Revelation
by Eirian1
Summary: Dying, Todd risks using a serum that thrusts him into madness. Kenny must persuade the Sentinals to allow the gestation of Todd's young. On Atlantis, to save Keller, Haddad may have to follow Beckett into Peril. VS5 Ep 12. WARNING: contains non-Con NC-17
1. Act 1

Author's disclaimer: I do not own _Stargate Atlantis_ and its associated characters. MGM does, for which, for the most part, they have my utmost respect. No copyright infringement is intended in writing these stories.

My deepest respect also goes to the talented actors that brought to life the characters we see in _Stargate Atlantis._ My portrayal of the characters here is based on my perception of the work of Joe Flanigan, Jason Momoa, Rachel Luttrell, Paul McGillion, David Hewlett, Robert Picardo, Connor Trinneer and Christopher Heyerdahl. Without these people and those that came before them, there would have been no _Atlantis_ as we know it today.

With the exception of personal interpretation and expansions, extracts from existing episodes of the series remain the copyright of the story and teleplay writers: Joe Mallozzi, Paul Mullie, Brad Wright, Robert C Cooper, Martin Gero, Mary Kaiser, Damian Kindler, Peter DeLuise, Jill Blotevogel, Carl Binder, Kerry Glover, Sean Carley, Treena Hancock, Melissa R. Byer, Joe Flanigan, Don Whitehead, Holly Henderson, Ken Cuperus, Scott Nimerfro, Alan McCullough, Alex Levine, and David Schmidt.

Other assorted original characters (i.e. those that don't really appear in the show) are my own creation, and they, along with the original material presented here are © Eirian Phillips 2011.

Story is rated for mature readers, according to whatever rating system is adopted these days for Fan Fiction. It changes on a site by site basis… It was so much easier way back when…

There may be other virtual seasons of _SGA_ out there in cyberspace. Some may even be unofficially official. However, as a writer, I don't believe that this should discourage others from having their own ideas about things. Mine are presented here.

I can be reached by Email Feedback is always welcome and emails are usually answered.

Characters and events are purely fictitious, and any similarity to anyone living, transformed, dead, cloned or in any alternate universe or timeline is entirely coincidental.

**Stargate Atlantis**

Revelation

_Deliver us from evil_

_"It doesn't make any sense. There's no _way_ a single Queen could provide enough genetic material to fertilise all those pods."_

_"Maybe there's more than one."_

_"Queens don't work together – at least not as far as we know."_

McKay and Ronon, Spoils of War

**_Previously On Stargate Atlantis:_**

Her heartbeat faltered, fluttering in her chest, and with a sudden snarling, Todd thrust hard against her, inside her, and she bucked her hips to meet with his, and for but a single moment, everything stopped… and then he burst inside her and she shattered for him… crying out again as all sensation sped to every nerve, every fibre that she was, consuming everything she was, or could ever hope to be…

_The red star burst, a nova destroying those worlds close by, a bright flash in the sky of a darkening world… there was pain, shared, passed into the memory of the one that squeezed to life from between her thighs – _her_ thighs? The cry of the birthing infant lost in the dying moan of its host._

Silence fell over the private quarters, punctuated only by the frantic gasping breaths she took in the aftermath of the shared climax that had shaken her to the core.

She felt the touch of his mind ease, loosen. He did not fully leave her, but wrapped the single word into her awareness.

_~parmhuna~ ~parmhuna~ ~parmhuna~_

She closed her eyes, trying to control her breathing…

_... and in her mind the clear image of a bright red flash in an otherwise dark sky… _

…instead, Alicia Vega wept.

* * *

"Doctor Haddad, what do you think you're doing?" Varnerin's voice cut across hers. "This creature is a dangerous individual who—"

"This _man_," she stressed the word as she turned her back on Lorne to face the greater threat, "is a patient of the infirmary. He was never discharged, nor should he have been. He is suffering from the effects of a retrovirus, and as medical practitioners, it is our duty to see to his care, not simply to imprison him for something we do not understand."

"And that's why you saw fit to remove the restraints, hmm?" Varnerin pressed. "To _understand_ him, not at all to make it easier for him to escape."

"Would you _listen_ to yourself," Haddad said, her tone sarcastic. "You are as dismissive and as paranoid as any man I have ever met. By understanding the genetic manipulation that has occurred in him we may be able to help others, including Doctor Keller."

"Oh, I think you _understand_ Doctor Keller far more than you would have us all believe," Varnerin said as he stepped closer to tower over her. "Given your… past history with such research."

"Do not seek to threaten me, Professor Varnerin," Haddad said, though she did step back to put some space between the two of them. "Other, far more frightening men than you have tried."

"Other men did not possess the knowledge that _I_ do, my dear young woman," he said. "Your research – the things you would not share with the Military…"

Ayatesha swallowed. There was no way he could have got a hold of that information. It did not exist in _any_ form accessible to anyone but herself. Even the notes she had made, while deconstructing Carson's original research she had destroyed, and even under the strongest of persuasive methods employed by the black ops team sent to oversee her exile, she had revealed nothing more than the means by which the retrovirus worked… knowledge already common since Michael's creation. Varnerin was bluffing.

"If you have nothing of clinical use to say to me," she told him, trying not to allow her voice to waver, "as the senior member of the duty staff, I strongly suggest you leave the infirmary, before I have you removed."

"Oh… play hard ball with me, little girl," Varnerin hissed and began to step closer. Ayatesha couldn't help but look away. He halted suddenly, as if he had collided with a brick wall. She turned her head back in time to see Lorne swing himself from the medical bed, his arm braced against the taller man's chest, to put himself between her and Varnerin.

"I believe the doctor… has asked you to leave," he said firmly.

* * *

Todd threw back his head and roared, matching the young Queen's feline snarl as he wrapped her hair around his fist, pulling back her head.

Subdued, she was at his mercy now, her feeding hand lay quiescent against his chest, and she was breathing hard as her snarl faded, as he looked down on her where she lay, supine beneath him; her life, his.

Finally lowering his head to her exposed throat, he breathed in deeply of the scent streaming from her, already changing in the aftermath of their mating. Slowly he closed his teeth on the side of her neck, both marking her and delivering, in his saliva, the hormone that would calm her, bring her Zenith to an end and prevent her body from rejecting the litter of sub-commanders that would be kindled from this union, until the Hive readied the pods for them.

* * *

"So, my Queen," Kenny said softly as he returned, looking down on where she lay, unable to move, completely at his mercy, and at the mercy of the orders given to him by his commander. There was no question of his loyalty, not in this matter. "You and your ignorant dam think you can bring to us the beginnings of all that is to come?"

The young Queen moaned and hissed as the genetic material of her young was excised from her swollen body by the action of the fluids and the enzymes secreted into the fluid, transported by the tendrils and tubules to the waiting generative pods. There they would complete their gestation, supported by the Hive, part of the Hive as much as its consciousness would be a part of them.

He did not care that she was watching him, Kenny pulled the cap from the first of the syringes his commander had given him, and inserted the needle carefully into the tendril supplying life support to one of the embryonic Wraith.

Slowly he injected the serum.

The young Queen breathed through her pain, finding the breath to answer his question, "No." and then found a way past the mental paralysis of her pain to reach his mind, she completed her answer.

_))…That falls to another than I ((_

_

* * *

_

Beckett didn't even lift his head from his hands when the soft touch fell on the back of his neck. Her hands caressed him gently, and were cool and welcome as a balm against the fevered fire that ached in his brain.

"Y'tesha," he sighed softly as her caress became a guiding touch that brought his head to rest against her sparrow-like shoulder.

"Sssh, Carson," she whispered, nuzzling with her cheek against the top of his head. "You have struggled with this long enough. You have known for a long time that this, ultimately, is all that you have left."

"But to go back to it," he murmured against her skin, nuzzling the rough evidence of her mistreatment, "even for this…"

"You," she breathed, "will go back because you, as I, know that it is _bigger_ than just this. You knew… from the minute you created Michael that it is bigger than just this. And they will not understand because they _do_ not understand."

He lifted his face away from her arm then, looked into her eyes again, cold with the fearful knowledge that she _did_ understand… that she too had knowledge of the howling darkness of which she spoke.

"What did they do to you, Ayatesha?" he whispered.

"No, Carson," she denied him. "Now is not the time. It begins in Jennifer, not with me."

"You're not making any sense, sweetheart," Carson said softly, daring the word that had been on his lips since he saw her again, but hardly daring to breathe.

"Yes, hayati, I am," she whispered, her face creasing with pain, "Just that you are not hearing."

Her lips brushed against his, and sobbing into the kiss, he drew her closer still, surrendering to the emotions, and to the knowledge that she was right. Ultimately, there was only one course of action that he had left.

* * *

The ache at the centre of him deepened to an almost-pain, demanding attention, demanding fulfilment, and he broke from another deep, sweet kiss he had not even consciously known when the cool softness of her hand closed around his risen length to give a cry of his own. Three times as deep, and as strong as he had ever given her… the tones winding around them both… his mind lost in the bliss of belonging only to her.

_-parmhunaeterna-_

She pushed him away, turned him to lie on his back and freeing him from the last of his clothing, rose over him; straddled him and cried out as she sheathed him. She threw back her head, and let the robe slip down her arms, revealing herself to him. The beads of perspiration over her breasts and stomach reflecting the light from the nebula in bright prisms against her – she glowed with it. Her muscles trembled around him; broke in climax even as she took him deep inside, and he moved a caress to the place of their joining, keeping her alive until her cries became soft moans and she sank against him…sobbing with it softly.

He ran his fingers through her hair, barely moving against her, inside her, lifted her head from his shoulder to find her lips with his and take another soft sweet kiss as he turned them again, drawing away from her as he brought her beneath him, supporting himself on his arms as he claimed her again, and she arched her back to take him deeper still and breathed against his shoulder, drawing him down to her, her fingers on his back like the touch of alternating heat and cold.

She moved against him with a rhythm and he fell into it, moving against her, within her, so aware of every part of the both of them, bonded in body and in mind that the hypersensitivity of opening inside of her, giving to her his innermost self brought a cry from the very heart of him.

Her cries became wordless as the moment took her and she trembled around him again. Sensation gripped him, fractured whatever remained to keep them apart and he voiced a cry of his own… shattered and emptied himself to the fount of her being; breathlessly flowed into her the waters of all of his life, all of his existence.

His words, almost a prayer, fell from his lips as he tumbled to cover her, unable to hold himself up any longer and she clasped him to her breast, pressed her cheek to his, and whispered his name over and over again – as she bathed him with the tears of their becoming.

* * *

Michael straightened up from the preparation of the sample and slipped the vial into the machine that would provide him the tools for analysis. He stood back, watching the screen as the image built, as the falling Wraith characters whispered the facts of the contents and composition of her blood; her DNA.

He had seen in her mind as they joined, that she had been through much since he had released her to Atlantis. They were supposed to keep her safe; protect her while he had been unable. They had failed. Worse than failure, their treatment of her… what they had done may well have caused her harm, at their hands, or at the hands of the Wraith, and now that she had returned to him, he had to be certain that this was not the case. He had to be sure that she was well.

A single character string falling to its place in the analysis caught his attention as he moved to step away. He froze. A tighter band than the one caused at her distress tightened around him and he all but threw himself at the console, isolating what he had seen, bringing into sharp relief the combined and complex amino acid chain.

"This isn't possible," he breathed in an awed tone, though with a greater fear than he wanted to admit.

* * *

"Anything!" he roared, "I could have forgiven _anything_ but this!"

"I only pushed… and he fell," she gasped. "Survive…!"

His feeding hand descended in a rapid unerring line toward her sternum, each painful inch he moved stealing year upon year of darkening memory, replacing every one with a hot agony of regret.

"There was a voice!" she screamed.

_::heshamae hensuus::_

He froze as the words and the image; the impression of falling water, frothy with the white of life, filled his senses… rolling over him, an absentee caress, regretful and sorrowing, lonely. His hand halted barely a wisp away from Isla's beating heart.

"_Survive_, it said," Isla wept. "_Survive._"

Trembling he curled his feeding hand into a fist and closed his eyes.

"Get out," the words came from him in a whispered rush, as he let go of her again. "Get out of my sight!"

He heard her, amid her sobbing breaths, scrambling to obey, felt the air beside him move as she practically crawled away from him, before she found her feet and her footsteps rang across the deck as she traversed his quarters toward the door.

_::heshamae hensuus::_

"Isla," he called her name, his head still bowed, and he both heard and felt her stop.

Slowly, still trembling, he drew himself up from his kneeling, almost prayerful attitude, and wordlessly crossed to take his servant one last time into his arms. She leaned backwards into his embrace as he bowed forward to enfold her in himself; grazed the side of her jaw with the light nipping of his teeth and the almost tender brush of his lips. He closed his eyes as the regret and sorrow swept over him, overwhelming, until he was drowning in it.

"Find for me a servant worthy of my trust," he whispered against her ear. "Send her to me."

* * *

"My Queen," Isla pulled herself from Hanna's grasp, and came to the middle of the chamber, coming to her knees before the assembled Wraith. "The Hive Second dismissed me from his service – a mercy I do not deserve – because of an accident that befell me and one of his Wraith brothers as I sought to return to your service… and to his."

_Almost over her, the Wraith mantled, drawing back his feeding hand, ready to slam it against her heaving chest. The moment between life and death hung heavy over Isla. Myriad thoughts and regrets and fears commingling into a single remembered command:_

_::survive::_

_As if guided by providence, Isla's bent knee came up off the dirt at her back and caught the Wraith a heavy blow that made him draw away, snarling with the pain of it. His hand still mantled back behind his head as he pulled back; his balance was fragile and failing. She bent both legs toward her belly and kicked out hard, connecting with the staggering Wraith's chest, tipping the balance and sending him tumbling backwards, growling… away._

_Isla braced herself, ready to turn and continue her desperate scramble for the top of the slope. The snarling of the Wraith ceased abruptly in a sickening wet squelch. The lack of noise became as terrifying as the fight had been, and breathing hard, Isla grasped a root to tether her to the spot, and sat up, cautiously, to peek downward._

_The Wraith lay still, his eyes open, staring… unseeing, and from his chest the dark blood dripping from its jagged, barbed edges, the broken branch stood, pointing toward the now almost purple sky._

_::survive::_

The Queen hissed suddenly, and drew back her hand, before snatching Isla up to her feet, the tips of her razor sharp finger-guards drawing sweeping lines across the girl's chest.

"You will live, girl!" she snapped, and without a moment's pause, launched Isla across the room, where she fell at the feet of the Hive's third in command. "The one you bested should not have shown such weakness."

_=weakness= =weakness= =weakness= =weakness=_

"But my Queen—!" the Hive commander protested.

The Queen rounded on him, hissing angrily, "You _dare_ to question my decision?"

"N-no, my Queen, I only—"

"Take the girl," the Queen turned away from the commander then, and snapped the words, like a gunshot, at the Hive's third in command. "She is yours to do with as you will."

* * *

Isla stumbled back to the rough cot in the corner of the room to which she had been relegated, barely made it to sit, then all but fall sideways, drawing up her knees to shelter there in the middle of her bed. For many long hours she lay in a cramped foetal ball, her throat raw from the tears she had already shed, aching for more but unable to find a way to release them.

After a time… and slowly, closing her eyes on the bruises already visible on her arms and her wrist she reached beneath the thin mattress of her cot, and closed her fingers around the coldness of the metal she found there, drawing it forth. She opened her eyes and let the light from the Lower Station's main room – not so far from the quarters she had been given, if they could even be called that – glint off the blade of the small, but sharp knife she had concealed there.

It would not take much… and the pain would not be as much or as lasting as that she had already suffered at the pleasure of the Hive Third. Slowly, her hand trembling, she brought the cold metal to the side of her neck…

_::survive:: ::survive:: ::survive:: ::survive:: ::survive::_

Sobbing once more, she let the knife fall from her trembling hand.

_{it is well done} {well done} {well done}_

His words to her were no exaggeration. It _was_ well done. Having the Queen's handmaiden serving as his also would allow him to maintain a closer vigilance of the Queen than his position would otherwise allow. He was concerned for her, or more accurately, he corrected himself wryly, for the Hive under her current condition. Her Zenith drew increasing unrest and near madness to some of the fertile males of the Hive, and yet the Hive commander, who should long since have brought his unstable Queen to the fulfilment of it, failed in his duties; his responsibilities.

_{she will serve me well, Isla} {serve me well} {serve me well} {serve well}_

"If… there is nothing more, my lord," he heard the tremor in Isla's voice and it threatened to crush his resolve; to draw him into his own lapse of duty. He shook his head to banish the thoughts of clemency for this one from his mind.

"There is nothing," he said, his triple toned voice flattened almost into a single tone. He closed his eyes, and listened to her walk away.

"Lord," Malcolm opened his eyes and blinked in surprise as the queen's handmaiden addressed him without invitation. "I beg you: do not judge your servant harshly. What befell her was a matter of circumstance. She—"

"What know _you_ of the truth of it?" he snapped, unable to keep the emotion from his voice as he turned back to face the woman, spreading his arms in silent instruction for her to begin preparing him for rest.

"I am no blind fool," she told him. "I have seen the loyalty with which she serves you, and know its source must reach far beyond what passes for obedience among the shallow sycophants of her kind."

The bitterness in her voice startled him and he snapped his head back, to look at her, catching her wrist to prevent her for continuing with his disrobing.

"You admire her," he surmised, tilting his head as he looked on the young woman.

"I pity her," she corrected him, the bitterness still clear in her voice, albeit tainted with sadness. "She is one true voice in a chorus of liars and people like her are punished for what they are, and will always be so. Despised by their own kind who fear the honesty of their desire, loathed by outsiders for a betrayal they never even made, and their masters, even as they reward their service, visit the heartbreak of longing upon them – a longing that will never be fulfilled."

Malcolm swallowed, and had no choice but to turn away, feeling as though his soul had been laid bare by the small woman who stood like a blood-covered dagger in his hand.

"You…are very brave to speak so candidly," he said, and cleared his throat, lowering himself to sit on the side of his bed, suddenly weary. "You may leave. I have no need of your services at this time."

Instead she crossed the room to him, and kneeling on the ground before him, took his hands and brought them to her lips.

"Please, my Lord," she implored him, "the Hive suffers. Take your rightful place. Cover Our Queen and bring us order again out of the weakness of her commander's madness."

Her hands around his trembled, and tears filled her eyes as he looked down on her, rolled from her cheek to drip onto his hand as he freed himself from her touch and in deepening curiosity, began to unfasten the ties on her high collared shift. She made no move to stop him.

Between the swell of her breasts there was no scarring. Not even the hint that any hand had ever fed, or given life marred the smoothness of her skin. He brushed his fingertips against the softness there as if in touch he could read her heart.

"I cannot," he told her softly, his eyes still fixed on the point at which the green and cream of their skin met. "For all that your position affords you a greater knowledge of the Hive, there is still much that you do not understand of the Wraith, or of my place here. I must ask you to endure."

"But why?" she pleaded and almost whispered the words she spoke as she pushed against his touch, beginning to rise. "You have it within your power to save all of us; to bring relief to this Hive; to—"

He rose with her, towered over her and caught her wrist again to prevent her from moving away. She shook her head as she looked up at him and continued her impassioned pleas.

"—to _save_ Isla," she said. "Why do your falter?"

"I. Must. Ask you. To. Endure," he repeated, allowing the hint of a fourth tone to touch her in the nuances of his carefully controlled voice.

_{both of you} {both of you} {you} {you} {you} {you}_

In the touch of his mind to hers, he let the fourth tone weave a thought, an image of a scorched sky, hanging over the spires of a ruined city wherein Wraith stalked broken prey that crawled over the jagged remnants of their own arrogant disregard.

He did not move as she turned and fled the room.

* * *

Slowly Michael unwound his fingers from Vega's hair as he took the component from her trembling hand. Then, without another word to her, he turned and started to the door.

"Wait," she called after him, "What… what are you going to do to me?"

He paused in the doorway and looked back at her over his shoulder. The cold amusement in his eyes withered what was left of her spirit.

"It is already done," he told her.

* * *

The stench of blood, both older and new, assaulted Todd more strongly as he pushed his way into the cabin… other scents too, strong and sickly – scents that brought a greater anger still upon his already wounded psyche.

Even in the half-light he spotted her immediately, lying on the blood-soaked hearth where the remnants of the fire barely smouldered. Her clothing was torn, and scratches, gouges stood livid against the white flesh of her belly, her thighs and shoulders, and bites descended from her all but torn throat – down over the front of her body, not sparing the soft mounds of her breasts.

"Alicia," he could not stop her name escaping from his lips, desperate and broken, and came to his knees at her side, reaching for her, to cradle her closer against him even as the scent of another Wraith's fulfilment strengthened – sensed even before he saw the viscous splash of clearing milky, enzyme filled fluid coating her hip and her belly.

She made no sound as he tried to wrap her in the remnants of her torn clothing, seeking to warm her, reaching for her neck to assure him that she yet lived. Desolation lodged within him, pulling him down, threatening to overwhelm him as her dangerously weak pulse fluttered against his fingers.

_~parmhuna… I am here~_

Nothing…

She was barely breathing. He raised his head from beside hers, where he held her tight against his chest. He was out of time, with only one possible course of action left to him in order to save her life.

Letting out a long, slow breath that trembled with unexpressed emotional pain, rage and something far greater than fear, he steeled himself for what he had to do, and slowly, pushed his feeding hand against her chest.

_~I only hope that you will find some way to forgive me~_

_

* * *

_

_"To understand that, you must first understand the evolution of the Wraith."_

Michael, In Truth Freedom

**Act 1**

_The burnt sky hung heavy over low clouds that mingled with the writhing smoke and danced a testament to the arrogance that had been the source of their genesis. Debris flashed past on what little she could see of the surface of the world over which she flew at terrifying speed – the haste of dream, memory… perhaps both._

_The city loomed on the nearing horizon, shattered and broken, its towers long since fallen, corroded. The former glory of such a place lost to centuries of exposure and abandonment to the world of its demise. They could not even then accept their role, their responsibility for the creation of the hell that abided there._

_She spiralled down, melding with one of the group of individuals picking their way over the ruins of the city that they recognised as their own and stumbled, catching herself on a protruding metal support strut for the fallen wall at her side._

_A rain of crumbling fragments tumbled from the contact between her gloved hand and the remains of the support beam on which she leaned. It sounded loud in the uneasy silence of the ruins around her and she jumped, and almost joined the sound with her own scream as a hand closed around her arm._

_"Have a care. Clonmar said the sensors reported signs of life on this world before they malfunctioned."_

_She turned to look into the smoothly handsome face of the man at her side, and then shook her head._

_"I find it hard to believe that _anything_ could survive in this environment, Donniel. The sensors must already have been malfunctioning," she said, but even as she spoke she felt a prickling at the back of her neck, and couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched… overheard._

_

* * *

_

Unseen… from the depths of the shadows Malcolm watched the woman as she twisted and turned in dream, trying to resist the growing temptation to reach into her mind and draw out the truth of what it was that disturbed her rest.

Unable to rest himself, he had taken to stalking the Hive, checking on the function of lesser systems, trying to keep himself beneath the notice of the many Wraith still going about their duties. With an almost ironic inevitability, his steps had brought him to the area of the Lower Station that housed those women that served the Queen as handmaidens.

He had felt her restlessness like a beacon, calling to him…

* * *

_"What _are_ they?"_

_Back to back with several of her comrades, Donniel included, the woman that Jethera was in her dream raised her weapon and fired into the incoming swarm of humanoid figures. So many of them came – had almost literally detached themselves from the darkness of the land around the broken city as if they had been a part of it._

_"What are they!" Donniel cried out in increasing desperation as the figures clambered over the growing pile of fallen bodies._

_She shook her head, and fired late into the chest of an oncoming creature. It was tall, muscular, and half clad in leather of some kind. Its skin was a pale and sickly green, though in patches it looked hardened, almost akin to the chitinous outer shell of some of the more dangerous insects that made their home scattered around the galaxy. That resemblance was continued in the claw-like fingers, and the strangely alien shape of its humanoid facial features, devoid of brows, its eyes butterfly shaped and ridged, but it was its dripping mouth that was the most terrifying of all._

_Beneath its truncated nose, lacking the cartilage of her own kind, and of those they seeded in their image, the upper jaw was lined with needle-like teeth, hidden behind two larger, sideway canines, which opened and closed back and forth, almost like pincers… back and forth quickly, as if it were searching – hungry._

_Dying, the creature hissed at her, and toppled forward, revealing the almost leonine flow of bone white hair at the back of its head, and a chill of dread fell with him, this one to bathe her spine, leaching even the warmth of her companions from where there was contact between them._

_"I… I do not know," she lied. "Keep firing."_

_"There are too many of them!" another of her companions, standing in a similar arrangement to her own, cried out, and in the next moment gave a terrifying cry as his defensive knot was overrun. She turned her head in time to watch him wither and die under the touch of the creature that had reached him._

_It was enough._

_"Run!" she ordered. "We cannot hold them! Get back to the shuttles, all of you, and leave this place. Do not return. _Never_ return!"_

_

* * *

_

"Take whatever knowledge we have gained from this place and warn our people," Malcolm whispered the words even as Jethera mumbled them from the depth of her nightmare. "Go. There is no more time."

A deepening frown crossed his face as he shifted barely a step toward the side of her cot, though he remained deep in shadow, his mind already reaching for hers, his head tilting as his memories became the echo of the dream the woman suffered.

_::what is the meaning of this?::_

_The words were a painful, sibilant hiss that shook the very walls of the cavern they had named The Dome, a place where their cache of generative fluids began and ended in their Revered Queen – their Matron._

_It was she that made the demand of him as he stepped from the pool, leading the two Wraith of the Warrior Clan. Between the warriors, half dragged, half carried – half drowned in the waters of the pool – the Lantean woman sagged, her struggles weakened. He smelled fear, expected it, but found it tinted with the acceptance of resignation._

_{my Queen, this one… knows}_

_::knows?::_

_{of our inception… our origins. I felt the fear of her recognition as she and her kind fought at the Site of our Coming}_

_She hissed, and sought to rise, her heavy, gravid bulk causing such a hindrance to her movement that the Wraith at her side, massive in height and menace both, stepped forward and without invitation closed his fingers around her arms, his own passing behind her to provide her with leverage._

_It was a possessive demonstration, and he knew it was. He ignored the male's posturing, and showing suitable obeisance to his Revered Matron Queen, he lowered himself to one knee, head bowed, awaiting the touch of her hand as permission to do otherwise. Her mind reached him first._

_::I tire of him:: ::tire of him:: ::him:: ::him:: ::him:: ::soon:: ::soon:: ::soon:: ::soon:: ::soon::_

_Her fingers curled beneath his chin and raised his golden eyes to meet hers, burning as they were with the pain and generation of life inside of her. Without being told, he understood that the progeny the consort, who still hovered at her back, had kindled within her was female – a second Queen._

_{the Maker, my Queen}_

_The reminder was a soft one, reverent yet none the less diverting from the discomfort and enormity of that which she asked of him. He was not yet ready to take up that mantle._

_::bring it to me:: ::to me:: ::me:: ::me:: ::me:: ::me::_

_The Lantean was dragged forward, her struggles redoubling, until she was there in front of the Revered Matron Queen. As soon as she was closer, she jerked upright, as a puppet might that had its strings all pulled together._

_::he tells me that you know:: ::you know:: ::you know:: ::know:: ::know:: ::that you understand:: ::understand:: ::understand::_

_"Who you are?" the Lantean woman stammered, "_What_ you are?"_

_::where, and who we came from:: ::who we came from:: ::came from:: ::came from::_

_The Revered Matron Queen leaned closer to the trembling Lantean as her words of correction echoed around the silence in the chamber._

_::how we came to be:: ::to be:: ::to be:: ::be:: ::be::_

_"I understand only what I saw," the Lantean answered, her voice snatching at the air, profaning the silence of the almost sacred place. The Revered Matron Queen leaned closer, stooping to bring her face closer to the Ancient before her, and breathed in deeply of the woman's fear as she continued, almost yelping, "In the database of my people – our computers!"_

_::then you will share with me what you understand, what you know:: ::you know:: ::you know:: ::know:: ::know::_

_"I will. I promise, I—"_

_

* * *

_

_"I will. I promise, I—"_

_Faster than she would have thought possible, the Wraith Queen's hand flashed forward, raked a painful slashing line down from her shoulder to her hip, diagonally across her torso, with a screeching cry as she pulled back her hand._

_The Wraith male standing at the dreaming Jethera's side moved behind her, mentally flicking away the creatures that had dragged her there, she knew, for they cowered away from his influence, but she could not see him. His hands closed around her upper arms, and as the Queen's feeding hand flashed forward again, she stumbled back against the solidity of his bulk._

_Then the pain of it began…_

_A rending, tearing fire that immolated every cell of her entire being, body, mind and spirit, and with a darkness gathering at the edges of her vision, helpless to do otherwise she felt herself flowing through the contact with this terrifying beast in front of her into the dark maelstrom that was the soul of the Queen._

_Her failing heart pounded in her chest and—_

Taking in a massive breath, unable even to cry out, Jethera woke and sat up, pressing a hand to the middle of her still aching chest. She took another laboured breath, her eyes darting this way and that, pulling at her nightshirt as if searching for evidence of blood.

"It was only a dream."

The triple-toned voice came from the dark shadows in the corner of the room, and even as she recognised it as belonging to the Hive Second, Jethera moaned softly and scurried backward, falling to the floor as she sought to put the cot between herself and the Wraith.

He let out a soft, growling sigh and stepped into the light at last. Jethera took a shuddering breath, but somehow seeing him helped to calm the turmoil the dream had left inside of her, the pain began to fade, and soon she was able to look up and find his eyes.

"Why would I dream such a thing?" she asked him softly.

He tilted his head to regard her steadily for a very long time, long enough that she began to feel uncomfortable, self-conscious, and reached for the blanket from the top of her bed to wrap it around herself in an attempt to cover her state of undress.

Finally he held out a steady, long fingered hand.

"Come. Walk with me," he said.

* * *

The life force flowed from Todd strongly at first, the barbs in his feeding hand anchoring deep as he gave Alicia the Gift, but what should have been a rapturous sharing became the sharp bite of pain in the gland at the head of his shoulder.

He snarled denial against it, continuing, the Gift of Life weaker now as he sought to heal her as much as he was able, until the pain became a paroxysmal agony, and he fell back, away from her, the fall breaking the contact between them, his body trembling – convulsing… dying.

Every faculty within him screamed at him to act; not to give up; never to give in to the fire spreading through his system on the wings of the very blood that gave him life. Trembling… fighting for every millimetre of movement, for every second of his existence, he forced his hand to move. He willed the claw of it to relax, to reach for the hidden pocket on the seam of his other arm, fumbling to reach the content within.

He did not have much time, and what little he had was fading fast, and his failing consciousness recognised that the serum he was about to inject was as yet untried… untested… unknown. Even amid the pain he let out a bitter, ironic laugh. What was the worst it could do to him – kill him?

Forcing his head to turn, he pressed the needle of the syringe he held into the vein at the side of his neck. His whole body trembled with the effort of depressing the plunger to deliver the serum – kill or cure – and his back arched at the added icy pain that flooded through him as the medicine took hold.

No turning back… he writhed and retched as pain and nausea, and a hunger so deep it threatened to tear him to mere shreds of his being, began to push through every cell, every atom… all of him burning and freezing at once as the two destructive elements warred within him, but slowly… the fire began to fade.

"And so…" he let out a long, slow breath as he felt the darkness rising up to claim him, "…my bitterest rival… becomes the instrument… of my salvation."

He would have laughed harder still, had not the darkness smothered him as reason surrendered to a more primordial state of being.

* * *

The unease Kenny had been feeling for the last several days solidified and was given form as he stepped into the antechamber of the commander's briefing room. There, several of the higher ranking Wraith of the Hive stood tense, and apparently waiting for him. They stood behind the smaller than average figure of the third in command.

Unwilling to show weakness, and with more than a few suspicions as to what might be the cause of this gathering he looked them over one by one, only speaking when he had given each of them a glare sufficient to assure them of his continued fitness to command in the absence of the Hive's rightful leader.

"I was not aware that I had called a meeting," he said, his bland tone underlining the sarcasm in his words.

"You did not," the third in command answered softly, his voice openly mirroring the sarcasm Kenny had used.

"Then go about your duties," he said, uncompromising in the order. He did not have time to play to petty posturing, nor to waste on Hive politics. He had the task that was set him by his commander before he left the Hive to search for his concubine, without mention of keeping the Hive's growing Queen from achieving more status than the commander would wish. "And leave me to mine."

"I observe my duties, Hive Second," the third said in the same soft voice, though Kenny noted that the words also held overtones of growing menace, "and my loyalty to our commander."

The end of the Third's thinly veiled accusation was accompanied by the ringing hiss of drawn steel which sang in the air to waver between the two most powerful Wraith aboard the Hive. Kenny sighed.

"This is unnecessary," he said on the end of the sigh.

"I think not," the Third answered without missing a beat and stepped toward Kenny, raising the blade between the two of them. "You moved the Hive away from the world on which our commander searched – a world which had clearly been visited by a rival Hive and—"

"I followed his orders," Kenny countered the accusation, still not drawing his own blade, "attending to matters far more pressing than the mere—"

"There is _no_ matter more pressing than the survival of this Hive's commander!"

As he roared the challenge into the open chamber, the third in command launched himself at Kenny, his blade leading the way. Kenny had no choice but to defend against the attack, and dodging the blade nimbly, he slapped the flat of his hand against his rival's wrist, barely turning the Wraith, and allowing the momentum of the drive against him to carry the Third past him.

"You speak to matters about which you know little," Kenny said, maintaining what patience he could and turning to face the Hive's third in command. Under the circumstances, he did not wish to lose so capable a Wraith from the hierarchy of the Hive. "In preventing me from performing this duty, _yours_ would be the betrayal."

_:~stand down. I have no wish to harm you~: :~harm you~: :~harm you~: :~you~: :~you~:_

"You have no proof of what you say," the Third argued. "I will not allow your words to sway those who also believe that you endanger this Hive and are no longer fit to serve."

He came at Kenny once more, harder and faster than the last attack and Kenny could feel the heat in the Third's blood, the desire for vindication drove that one. He truly believed the accusations he levelled against Kenny.

By far the more measured in temperament, he defended against the attack once again, this time grasping the wrist of the Hive Third and stepping into the Wraith's body, turned and sent the other sailing over him, to slide across the floor as he landed. The Third stopped only when he collided with the far bulkhead.

"End this madness," he demanded, his own temper rising. He did not want to have to truly betray his Hive commander by openly revealing the task that had been given to him, but it was beginning to look more and more likely that this would be the only way by which he could stop the challenge… other than engaging and besting his rival.

That, however, he suspected would prove futile, as the Third had come with a number of underlings, any one of which might take up the challenge once the Third was defeated. It was the way of the Hive, the way of the Wraith and had always been. His only choice, he realised, was to reveal to the Hive Third at least _some_ of what he had been ordered to do.

Kenny did not wait until the Third had fully regained his feet before he flew across the chamber, taking the third in command by surprise, and wrapping a hand around the other Wraith's throat. The other once more grasped the wrist of the hand in which the Third wielded the knife and with little regard for the injuries it might cause, Kenny drove the other Wraith hard against the bulkhead. Once, twice and then again, until the knife clattered harmlessly to the floor and he could pin the struggling Wraith against the wall. Only then did he open his mind to the subordinate Wraith commander, allowing him to see… at least enough that he believed would convince the Third to abandon his challenge.

_Todd paced back and forth as the Hive move into a stable, geostationary orbit around the world that housed their worshippers, his agitation and worry visible, even without the ability to feel his fear through the neural bond of the Hive. Kenny did, however, and hesitated to voice his reservations to his Hive commander._

_"Once I am away, do not wait for me," Todd suddenly rounded on him, and as though he had read the concerns that Kenny felt – as though he knew that Kenny did not understand the attachment Todd had for the human woman, particularly not in light of his recent assignations with Doctor Keller – continued, "you will find the coordinates to a nursery facility buried deeply within my personal files. Take the Queen's young there."_

_"Surely a slight delay will not—"_

_"This Hive is not equipped to fully support their development and it is of great importance that they should survive," Todd interrupted, "and _any_ delay may prove to undermine their viability. Return for me once that task is complete."_

_"I believe you err," Kenny answered candidly._

_"But you will still do as I command," Todd said, and fixed him with an uncompromising and baleful stare._

_After only a moment, Kenny bowed his head in acquiescence to the orders of his superior, then turned and left the room._

The third in command growled softly, but Kenny felt the fight draining from the other Wraith, and began, cautiously, to release the pressure by which he held him against the bulkhead wall.

"I yield," the Third announced after a moment longer, in which Kenny was certain he could feel the other Wraith pressing deeply within the neural interface of the Hive. "Our Second speaks truly. He follows orders given to him by the Hive commander."

Kenny let go, and stepped back, and gave the Third a respectful nod.

"It is good that you have seen, Hive Brother," he said softly.

_:~but now that you know, you must assist me~: :~assist me~: :~assist me~: :~assist~: :~assist~:_

_

* * *

_

Todd crouched, bloodied and filthy in the mass of leaves with which he camouflaged himself, his head jerked back as he sniffed the air, running the ambient senses not only through his human-like nostrils, but also tasting them through the satisfying completeness of his Wraith sensory pits.

There were two of them nearby – both male – both mature, and yet young. They would provide little resistance… easy prey. The madness of the hunger burning in his blood was nothing compared to the deeper instinct to protect; preserve… to allow her to live, regardless of the cost; regardless of his pain. To do that, first, he must feed.

These two would barely be enough, but the fading notion of time, the overwhelming sense of urgency that subsumed him, told him that there could be no delay. She must not die.

Without another conscious thought he launched himself from what scant cover he had, his shirt – the coat long since abandoned as impractical – ripping on the broken ends of low hanging branches. With a roar he came on the clearing where his prey abided, and bore down on them without mercy.

One cried out in alarm, drawing Todd's attention first his way, and the Wraith grabbed the youth by the throat and lifting him from his feet, brought him down hard against the uneven ground, ignoring the second while he disabled the first, rendering the first of his prey stunned, but still conscious.

A deep, penetrating pain rushed over his awareness, and Todd turned his head to look at the source of the hurt. A slender, feathered stick protruded from his shoulder. He looked past it, to the other youth, who held a second, longer stick that curved under the pull of some kind of sinew stretched between its two ends – a weapon.

Abandoning the first of his prey, Todd leaped at the second, swatting aside the weapon as he caught the youth by the front of his shirt and carried him by sheer momentum of the leap, against the nearby tree. He pinned him there with the bulk of his own body, but the impact with the tree trunk drove the wood embedded in his shoulder deeper still. Roaring with the pain of it, Todd pulled away and snatched at the arrow to pull it from his body, neither noticing nor caring that the youth slipped from before him.

Blood sprayed hot and wet against his hand, but the relief as he tossed the wooden projectile aside was palpable, and only redoubled the instinctual understanding of the necessity to feed, to satiate the hunger that drove him part way to the madness he suffered.

Turning, he took rapid walking steps after the fleeing youth, ignoring the one still downed from his initial assault. He had erred – the one he now pursued was clearly the superior of the two males – the alpha among them… yet he was prey, and as prey he fled. Todd's walking steps quickened, until he was jogging, and then running after the fleeing youth. It did not take him long to catch up.

"No!" the youth screamed as Todd bore him to the ground, and turned him mercilessly beneath him. "Please… don't. I—"

With an animalistic snarl, Todd thrust his feeding hand against the youth's chest, feeling the fluid ache along his arm as the barbs anchored him deeply to the human flesh, and the rush of heat and life – the explosion of light, almost blinding against his fevered mind – none of it bringing relief from the burning madness, from the hunger, from the need…

He felt the knitting of bone and muscle and skin in his injured shoulder, the closing of his many wounds and snarled denial against it; against his nature. It was not for him, it was never meant for him.

Dust crumbled beneath his hand, and he turned first his head and then, crouching still, the rest of him in the direction of the other youth. That one was beginning to rise, yet still showed signs of the effects of being stunned. A single leap was all it took to bring him down again, and snarling for a second time, Todd thrust his feeding hand hard against the youth's chest… feeding deeply from the prey he held beneath his hand.

Still, it was not enough.

* * *

"Safe orbit achieved, Hive Second," the Wraith on the bridge all turned and looked with expectation in his direction. Kenny said nothing, merely reached to mentally activate the viewing screen so that he could look on the world to which his commander had sent him – in which his commander would place his hope and trust.

"I still believe you erred," he murmured to himself. Aloud he ordered, "Scan the surface of the planet for energy signatures that may reveal the position of the—"

He got no further with the order, the viewing screen wavered for a brief moment, and then changed from the image of the world beneath them, to the image of what looked like the face of a Wraith Queen, however, she was the most bizarre sight Kenny believed he had ever seen.

She was completely hairless, her scalp instead appeared almost completely blue with the marks of the many tattoos that graced her skin and completely smothered the white-green greyness of her flesh. The neck and shoulders that supported the head were naked, and similarly adorned, but it was the eyes, serpentine, without a doubt, yet of the deepest green, within the lighter green of their orbs that chilled Kenny the most.

"_We have received your message, Hive Second_," she hissed, her voice little more than a sibilant whisper.

Kenny drew himself up to the fullest extent of his height, noticing as he did that others on the bridge had backed away from the unsettling sight of the Sentinel Wraith, for such, he realised, she was.

"Not _my _message, Madam," he corrected with a respectful nod, "but that of my commander, under our Queen."

Mindful of the need to sound sincere, and convincing of the fact of the Queen's authority on the Hive, where of course she had none, he accompanied the word with a second apparently respectful inclination of his head. Then, anticipating what the Sentinel's next question would be, answered it before it could be asked.

"He sends his apologetic regret. However, he is in attendance of business vital to the status of the Hive and is unable to be here in person to oversee this… delicate process." Kenny said.

"_No one has yet agreed that there will __**be**__ a __**delicate process**__ as you put it_," the Sentinel hissed. "_That is yet to be determined by an examination of your queen and her get_."

Kenny took in a sharp breath, and swallowed down the concern that rose in him suddenly. Covering his fear with indignation, and as strongly as he could, he made the protest he expected his commander would have made in his place.

"That is unacceptable," he snapped, frowning deeply. "Our Queen submits to no one."

"_None the less_," the Sentinel answered, completely unaffected by his display, "_she __**will**__ be examined, otherwise the young aboard your Hive will be… disposed of. Prepare to be boarded_."

Before Kenny could protest further, the screen went blank.

* * *

She lay shivering beneath the pile of cloth he had covered her with against the cold as though it did little to stave off its icy fingers that only seemed to fill her body with a relentless burning, for as he drew closer to her, as he came to all fours at her side, Todd could feel the heat streaming from her trembling form.

He leaned closer still, breathing in deeply of the scent of her, running the mingled and myriad odours through his olfactory senses; processed the tale each aroma provided. The iron scent clenched at his gut, told of the blood that still seeped from her wounds – wounds that had been resistant to the action of the Gift he had delivered so many times in the last several days. She should have healed. She should not still be dying. The scent of the blood was different, somehow, less like the metal with which human blood was usually so pungent.

Scenting her still he moved lower on her form, and snarled – then howled with anger as he caught the still strong scent of another Wraith, another male and tore aside the bundles of cloth he had so carefully arranged over her, in the instinctive actions of a jealous mate, meaning to tear her faithless body limb from limb.

She cried out as his talons raked against her breast, drawing an instant line of blood that welled brightly against the grey-whiteness of her once creamy skin. The starkness of it halted him, somehow reached through his anger. His entire body was still mantled over her, tense and ready to visit on her the punishment deserved by those without loyalty as her body's trembling increased beneath him.

"Todd! Help, please somebody!" lost in the grip of her delirium, reliving some dreadful moment she turned her head aside. "Don't! Let go of me! NO!"

At her scream he sprang, as though some invisible enemy attacked and landed crouched, straddled over her, with his feet on either side of her narrow waist and roared into the air, first one side and then the other as if keeping the unseen foe at bay. She whimpered, and aside from the trembling became still. He sniffed the air one more time, and once more caught the scent of her fresh, but sickly blood.

_She must not die_

The thought possessed him, and knowing nothing else to do, he drew back his feeding hand and thrust it hard against her panting chest.

He threw back his head, snarling into the air as the life began to flow from him, as the pain, not the rapture of sharing such an intimacy with her wracked his own, still recovering body. As he had so many times before he poured all of himself that he was able into the tiny frame beneath him… lost awareness of himself, and of the slowing of her trembling; lost awareness of the pain that tore through his own cells, and of the cooling of her fevered flesh beneath his…

He lost awareness of the strength that failed and had him collapse, half against her, half against the cold ground beside her – and of the listless, faint embrace of arms that wrapped around him.

"Todd…"

* * *

The Wraith commander stood erect, eyes closed, even though the viewing screen on the bridge of his Hive was active. His hands rested lightly on the controls of the central console, and he guided the Hive through a pitch and yaw manoeuvre to avoid the fire from the enemy Darts that flew against his ship.

_(+report+)_

_Hull regeneration remains stable. Thirteen Darts remain within range of my sensors. Weapons are ready… Commander._

"Stand by forward and starboard batteries," the commander translated the words and impression he received from the Hive's consciousness for the rest of his bridge crew and finally opened his eyes. He was fatigued from the battle that had raged a full three days, in one form or another, which he had personally overseen – every single moment under his command – under his care… and so he must, for his Hive transported a most precious visitor who had supplanted even his Queen, whose consort he had been for several long centuries.

He found, however, that he did not miss her – for this other was far stronger – his Matron, and under _her_ guidance, he was certain that his Hive would achieve a supreme status among the Wraith, particularly once he had subdued the forces that remained loyal to the Abomination; brought them to heel, and had executed each and every one of those unworthy even of the title _prey._

"Commander, the cruiser has recalled its Darts." The Wraith among the bridge crew that was monitoring the communication between the ships gave his report as efficiently as always.

"They're running," his Hive Second surmised.

"Then _we_ will give chase," he answered. "Stand by to target his hyperdrive generator. If he wishes to run, then he must do so here."

"Target acquired," the Wraith at the tactical console announced calmly.

"Fire the moment he begins to open a hyperspace window," he ordered, a cold, cruel smile coming to crease his otherwise sculptured face, accented only by the trace of a starburst pattern that was half masked by the hair that fell over the side of his temple. "We will allow him to believe that he can escape _before_ we correct his assumption."

* * *

Vega moaned as the weight fell half over her, the fading edge of the nightmarish dream still lodged within her unconscious, even if her conscious mind recognised – in some way – that the weight belonged to the one she longed to see again…

_"Todd! Help, please somebody!" She struggled as the commander of the Elder Queen's Hive reached her, and effortlessly threw her to the hearth. The rough coldness of the tiles scratched her back as he clawed at her clothing, taking both her hands in one of his and pinning them above her head. Her shirt ripped. The sound was louder, to her ears, even than her own screams. His intent was more than clear. "Don't! Let go of me! NO!"_

_"He denied me once, Handmaiden," the commander snarled, "and I am anxious to see what is so special – what all his fuss is about."_

_Pinned, and overwhelmed by the much taller Wraith, she had no chance, could not even twist aside when his rough bites began to descend from her neck, puncturing her breasts and grazing her belly, drawing blood that slickened her skin to his touch._

_There was little finesse in his actions, and he did not take his time – she could already feel that the sheer power of his domination over her had aroused him sufficiently for what he had in mind. The nips and sucking kisses that left marks on her body were meant for other eyes than his or hers and what he did, she realised, was a simple act of revenge – a demonstration of his superiority._

_She screamed even so… and when he released her hands to free himself she beat and slapped and scratched against him as hard as she could. She would not give him what he wanted, not without a fight. The screams might as well have been whimpers for the sound she made when he at last tired of toying with her, and forced himself inside of her – claiming her fully._

_Where Todd had at least been mindful of her body, this Wraith was mindful only of his own pleasure, thrusting roughly until he filled her entirely and then opening to anchor himself in place as he bucked and pushed against her. The pain of it was beyond anything she could imagine, yet still it worsened as, several minutes into the torture he wrought on her, his breathing becoming more and more shallow and rapid, he tore out from her, and grabbing a handful of her hair bent her head down so that she could see his opened member as he lay it on the juncture of her leg and body._

_The tiny, barb-like bristles around the edges of his open glans almost rippled as if searching for something into which to anchor, and where the lower side touched the skin of her groin the needle sharp mass of them pricked deep. From within, the innermost shaft, tongue-like and almost tapered, slipped back and forth in a bizarrely reverse parody of the act he had so deliberately interrupted. He held himself, mimicking the anchor that had been so painful inside of her, so that he maintained his pleasure, so that he could bring himself to fulfilment upon her – staining her… marking her with a scent she knew that Todd would not miss as he spilled his essence over her, roaring out his pleasure, his power as he came._

_"If the wound I leave you with does not kill you," the commander hissed, "then surely his pride – his temper – will. Think about that… human!"_

_Then he leaned over her, and closed his teeth hard and deep around the flesh at the side of her neck. As much pain as she already felt in the centre of her body, she barely felt the added pain of the tearing flesh at her throat._

_"To—"_

"odd!" She screamed as she came awake, and in spite of herself scrambled to be free of the weight that covered her… before turning to the side and retching, vomiting bile and little else until she was weak and trembling from it.

As she gathered herself once again she became aware of the burning pain in the centre of her chest. It took her still slow-waking mind a moment to understand its source, but when she did, she turned her head back to where she had woken, pinned by the dead weight of a figure. Her eyes found him easily, and she cried out in grief.

"Todd, no…" she wept, and tried to gather what little of her clothing remained around her once more as she crawled back to the prone figure she had escaped in her desperate waking. She could only imagine what must have happened, and what he had done as he found her… and even though her imaginings made a mockery out of the Elder Hive commander's intent for her to die by Todd's own hand, the reality was worse by far.

He must have found her, hurt… dying… and even though they both knew that she had been infected with the Hoffan protein, he must have tried to heal her anyway – tried to give his life force to her, to save her. Effectively… she had killed him.

"No…" She pushed at his immobile form. "…Todd!"

She almost screamed when he moaned softly, and turning, fell onto his back.

"Par…mhu…na," The word was barely recognisable, but fell from his lips in response to her distress and he stirred, trying to reach for her. "A…licia."

"Oh my God," she stammered. "Oh my God, Todd, hold on… hold on, I…"

She let out a hiccupping sob, trying to look around, trying to find something that the Elder Hive commander had not destroyed in his attempt to dominate her completely.

"Cold," he whispered. "Lost…"

"I'll… light a fire. I—" swaying as she forced her feet under her, she began to frantically gather the remnants of the furniture that lay in ruins around the room, bringing it to the hearth… anything… anything that could make her feel that she could help Todd, as he had undoubtedly and for a second time, saved her life.

* * *

Slowly, his head filling with stabbing pains as the light streamed into his too dilated pupils, Todd opened his eyes. As if the simple act of leaning up to watch Alicia were a mountain that he must scale, he pushed himself up on his elbows, trembling with the effort of movement, but it was as though, feeling her so close, and awake, calmed the animal in him to allow reason to gain the upper hand.

Instinct still burned in him, as did the pain of the need to feed – to heal himself more completely – but he was able to at least recognise who and where he was, and more importantly, the reason for the urgent insistence of the instinctive animal he had become.

Falling back as the effort to hold himself up became too great, he closed his eyes and let out a deep and pained sigh.

"Parmhuna," he whispered once again.

* * *

Kenny growled softly as his steps carried him along the central walkway of the Dart Bay toward the transport ship that set down at the end of it. His senses were alert for any danger, and at his back a full six drones, all armed, walked in protection – and, he raised a ridge in wry amusement at his own thought – as escort or honour guard for the visiting Sentinel Wraith. Still his underlying emotion was frustration, if not anger, that he had not been forewarned of this.

_Todd paced back and forth as the Hive move into a stable, geostationary orbit around the world that housed their worshippers, his agitation and worry visible, even without the ability to feel his fear through the neural bond of the Hive. Kenny did, however, and hesitated to voice his reservations to his Hive commander._

_"You sent for me," he said instead. "There are orders?"_

_Todd turned to face him, pausing in the pacing and with a nod, said, "Concerning the embryos developing in the generative chambers of the Hive."_

_"Is there a problem?" he asked, "When last I checked they were developing well – their cells even accepted the modifications the serum caused without any detrimental effects."_

_Todd shook his head. "You will find the coordinates to a nursery facility buried deeply within my personal files. Take the Queen's young there once I am away. Do not wait for me. It is of great importance that they should survive."_

_Kenny did not understand the attachment Todd had for the human woman. The thought disturbed him greatly, not merely because of his commander's concern for what was, essentially, a worshipper, albeit a most useful one, but more disturbingly, because of what had occurred – the recent assignations with Doctor Keller. He fought to sublimate the growl that rose in his throat at that thought, instead focussing on the thought of the Queen's young. If it were so important that these young be gestated in a nursery facility, why was his commander wasting time coming to collect one of his human concubines who could easily be replaced? Why such worry?_

_"Surely a slight delay will not—"_

_"This Hive is not equipped to fully support their development and," Todd interrupted, mistaking the subject of his question, "_any_ delay may prove to undermine their viability. Return for me once that task is complete. I have already transmitted our intent to do this to the Sentinel at the nursery."_

_"You did not inform me," Kenny snapped._

_Todd frowned. "I am informing you now," he said. "Is that a problem?"_

_"I simply feel it would be better – safer – were we to oversee the development of the young ourselves rather than under the control of others," he answered, refusing to make mention of his reservations about his commander's choice of companions. He had seen others come to less than desirable ends when even thinking such thoughts too loudly._

_"The modifications within their genetic make-up will keep them safe enough until we can return and take control of the entire nursery – should that become the path I wish to take," Todd said and he waved an almost dismissive hand in Kenny's direction._

_Kenny knew there was more that his commander had not said, a plan within a plan, but he also knew that now was not the time in which it could be discussed. Once he had proven his continued loyalty, perhaps, his commander would see fit to brief him completely. Until then, he must, for the sake of his duty to his Hive, make his commander aware of his concerns._

_"I believe you err," Kenny said candidly._

_"But you will still do as I command," Todd said, and fixed him with an uncompromising and baleful stare._

_After only a moment, Kenny bowed his head in acquiescence to the orders of his superior, then turned and left the room._

The door to the transport ship opened with a swirling hiss of equalising pressures and Kenny tensed visibly. In spite of all his preparations – the carefully executed machinations of his commander – by reputation, the Sentinel Wraith were a wily group. It would not be easy to keep the truth from them, nor to deceive them even enough.

As the motion of the door ceased, Kenny found himself _facing_ the terrifying reality of the danger that confronted him in the person of the Sentinel, and her attendant females, human worshippers who were attired and adorned with the same deep blue tattoos as was their mistress. Unlike other worshippers, however, these women were armed with long, curving blades which they carried in each hand, like the tusks of some ancient pachyderms.

The physical threat was less of a concern, however, than the hidden, unseen one. He could feel the powerful sense of menace from the trio of women even before the heavily tattooed Wraith stepped toward him. She spoke in the same hushed tones with which she has addressed him before.

"It is customary… polite," she clipped the word with a click of her tongue which pushed the final T into him like the thrust of a narrow bodkin, "that the Queen making the request for deposition of her young be the one to greet the instrument of her testing."

"Regrettably, Madam," Kenny answered with a bow, "our Queen is unable."

"Flawed?" the whispered word was like a gunshot and Kenny's gut clenched in anticipation of the impact."

"The young developed more quickly than we anticipated and we had no choice other than to temporarily transfer them to the gestation pods aboard the Hive," he answered. "The transfer has left the Queen weakened. As you know, it will be some time before—"

"Do not seek to lecture me." The Sentinel stepped forward and pushed the fingertips of her clawed hand against Kenny's chest. He resisted the urge to close his fingers around her slender wrist in restraint.

"My apologies, Old One," he made a subtle shift in his attitude as he spoke; the apology carried a strength that was suggestive of a challenge. _Yes, I know those secrets you seek to keep from mere males._

The Sentinel waved her hand, dismissive of the apology – and the lack of sincerity.

"Take me to her," she demanded.

"Of course, Madam," Kenny said and swept a hand toward the interior of the Hive, inviting her aboard.

* * *

"It wasn't long after that," Malcolm said with a sigh, as Jethera's fingers worked through the braids in his hair, loosening their pull against his scalp, "that we began masking the drones… lesser commanders believed it was because our Matron came to realise, through her feeding on the Lantean woman, that their appearance would repulse our human servants."

"But you know differently," Jethera said softly, her tone as if of idle curiosity. Malcolm tilted his head, not at all convinced by the tone.

"What good will such knowledge serve you, Jethera?" he asked mildly.

"What makes you believe that I seek it for any personal gain?" she answered his question with one of her own. "You were the one that ordered me to walk with you, to tend to you here. Nor did you answer my question concerning the dream."

"I did not answer because I have no answer to give," he told her candidly, and reached to take her fingers from his hair, before turning to face her. "There could be many reasons for you to do so – including my presence in your chambers."

She shook her head. "You don't believe that, or I would not be here," she said.

Malcolm laughed softly.

"You are entirely a danger unto yourself, handmaiden," he said at length.

"Why then?" she asked him, trying to ease her hand out of his grasp. He held fast to it, refusing to release her.

"Our Matron had seen a far greater danger than a simple revolution among our servants," he said, fixing her in place with his gaze as he reached for her mind…

_{one that would threaten her very existence} {existence} {existence} {existence}_

…weaving around her the sharing in the deep fourth tone in his mentally echoed voice…

* * *

_"Why have you done this, Hetja?" – "I had to build in some kind of failsafe." – "It's a construct. It's not going to harm—" – "It's a she, and she's fertile and breeding. If we don't ensure that the birthing of one brings the ending of the other—" – "It's murder, Hetja. It's one creature and its offspring. You wanted this and now—"_

_The Revered Matron Queen snarled, and snatched her feeding hand away from the Lantean, and scrambled away, her hand dripping blood and enzyme in her wake, still pointing at the woman._

_::heal it:: ::it must survive::_

_{my Queen?}_

_She responded with an inarticulate voice sound, half way between fury and desolation, and for a moment, he could not move for being flooded with images of death and decay. As soon as he was freed, he shifted enough that he could easily reach the prisoner's chest and brought his hand to bear against the dying Lantean's sternum, his own enzyme mingling with that of the Revered Matron Queen and as though his own life depended on her survival, allowed his own life force to revive her, to heal her – to give her back her lost vitality._

"You healed her," Jethera frowned at him in disbelief. "I thought the Ancients were your enemy."

"They…" he hesitated, instilling a strange stress into the word that ran ice along Jethera's spine, "…were far more than just our enemy."

"I… don't understand," she said hesitantly, a growing tremor in her voice.

"No?" he asked, and letting go of her, he reached toward her with his right hand, barely disturbing the shift that covered her chest, drawing her closer with the hand he still held.

"Why… would I?" she stammered, bracing her hand against his shoulder to try and halt her forward motion. "How could I? I—"

With no warning, his hand shifted from brushing at the front of her shift to grasp the back of her head, and bring her close, so close that his breath stirred the fine hairs behind her ear as he spoke in a mere sub-vocal whisper.

"I do not know what game you play, girl," he said, the words echoing in her mind.

_{…game you play, girl} {game you play} {you play} {girl} {girl} {girl}_

"…but I would advise you play carefully…"

_{carefully} {carefully} {carefully} {carefully}_

"We are not all of us blind."

_{not all blind} {all blind} {all blind} {blind} {blind}_

Jethera trembled against his restraining touch, still fighting to keep herself away from him, until her strength failed, until she could not fight any more, and fell against him, moaning softly, as he caught her closer still.

* * *

"How _dare_ you!"

Kenny caught the young Queen as she flew across the narrow quarters toward him. Her anger was more impressive in show than it was in threat as she was still weakened from the drug she had been given prior to the arrival of the Sentinel.

"I dare because I follow the directives I have been given," he answered smoothly, "and you would do well to moderate your attitude. But for my daring, you could by now be slain."

The Queen spluttered indignantly, and tugged against his hands with which he gripped her more strongly as her struggles increased.

"First, you throw me into this mere _prison_ aboard your Hive, and now—"

"The sooner you come to appreciate your position here, _my Queen_," he stressed the words with not a little contempt, "the easier it will be for all of us. You were treated as you have been in order to ensure your survival before the Sentinel."

"So he means to go ahead with his _insane_ plan?" she snapped almost petulantly and stopped struggling. She looked up into his face as though the thought of it cut her in two. "He cannot, he—"

"He has," Kenny interrupted, pushing her back down onto her cot. He held her there with one hand, and retrieved the syringe he carried in a hidden pocket, uncapping it with his teeth. "We are here, and the Sentinels have retired to consider whether or not they will allow the young to be gestated here."

"You assume they will," she spat at him, and winced as he pushed the needle into an exposed vein on her thigh.

As he withdrew the needle he looked up to meet her eyes, his filled with ice and the steel of resolve.

"I assume nothing," he said, "but it _will_ occur – one way or another."

"You…" the Queen began to slump forward as the drug took hold, "…you do not understand… my dam… my sire…"

Her eyes closed as she lapsed into unconsciousness, and Kenny could not help but wonder what it is she had been going to say, and why her warning tone bothered him so much.

* * *

When next she woke, the first thing she noticed was the warmth of a fire that crackled nearby to her left, and that she lay on something soft, her head resting on an even softer pillow.

"Rest, Alicia," a voice nearby, broken and husky as if with lack of use, or overuse, addressed her softly. "It has been a long road."

"Todd?" she turned her head, and opened her eyes to the shadows beyond the fire.

"Indeed," the voice rasped.

"You don't sound like you," she said, a little afraid.

"For me also, the road has been… difficult," he answered. "I have not been well."

"I… I thought you were dead," she whispered as her memory flooded back. She reached out toward where she could make out the darker shape within the shadow. "You… you healed me."

Abandoning her reaching, she tugged at the blanket that covered her, and the shift she now wore, and tried to see the evidence of it on her chest. The dark shape moved toward her, into the light and gently caught her wrist.

"Leave it," he instructed.

She looked up at him, her eyes running over the overly grey, pallid green of his skin to find his eyes, their usual burnished gold tarnished still with pain.

"You healed me, even though you know I carry the Hoffan protein," she said, confused and hurt by the thought, cursing Michael for what he had done to her.

"I did," he said, and chuckled softly, though there was no humour in it. As the laughter died, as he moved to cover her with the blanket once again, he said, "I could not allow my lack of vigilance to be the death of you, my Alicia."

"But how… how did you survive? I—"

"Perhaps I did not," he rumbled softly, moving closer still to the exposed side of her, as though to keep the cold of the room beyond the fire from reaching her. He settled beside her, sharing space – if not the bed he had made for her. "Rest."

"But you're here. You—"

"We are both of us here," he murmured against her cheek as he laid his arm across her, on top of the blanket. His voice deepened then, becoming filled with a tone she did not recognise, but which amplified her fear. "And now, my Parmhuna, it must begin."

* * *

The Sentinel acquiesced to the touch of her servants as they guided her back into the unoccupied pod in the circle of seven identical chambers. She sighed softly with the comfort of familiarity as the tendrils snaked toward her, around her, anchoring her into the consciousness of the facility and of her sisters.

As each tendril connected with her near naked flesh, she felt their presence and their voices more strongly as a part of her. She felt home, fulfilled, and abandoned the emptiness that filled her away from the circle.

_Tell us – show us what you have seen – share with us, sister_

It was impossible to identify any single voice in the gestalt being they were with the circle, but their concern was as clear as her own doubts, her own desire for vigilance.

_I urge caution; all is not as it seems – why? – his bloodline is not at fault, surely you can see that – his bloodline is not the question – then what? – he is of one of the Five - hers is – how? – there are shadows in her past – that is the case with most queens – many queens cannot even mindspeak of their lineage – they have lost the way – few receive the Passing – did she?_

The question halted her train of thought – almost threw her from the communion – she slowly replayed all that she knew of the Queen in her mind… as she did so her limbs twitched and the tendrils tightened around her.

* * *

Unconsciousness did not preclude dreams – and at such times as these her thoughts turned backwards – dreams of before, her dam's dreams, her dam's past.

_"Why do you allow her to command you? Are you not Queen of this Hive?"_

_The Queen span around as the male's voice broke the silence of her quarters. His very presence was a blasphemy to her, so deeply caught in her Zenith, relief of which had been denied to her by the words of the Elder Queen she served – his presence burned._

_"Get out!" she roared at him. "How dare you come before me unannounced – unbidden!"_

_Even so she could not help but look at him as a potential mate… potential victim of her need. He was a tall and sculpted Wraith, perfection wrapped him in its threadbare blanket as he stood, head tilted to one side in an arrogance of waiting for her to answer his question. She could feel that from him._

_Instead of withdrawing, with an unnecessary flick of his hand – a gesture made for show – he mentally closed and locked the door, began stalking toward her. She circled with him, hands clawing, her feeding hand already dripping enzyme in anticipation of the fight, and the act it might precipitate._

_"In the before-time, all such Zenith ended this way," he told her, his soft voice massaging expectation into her psyche. "The male gave himself in sacrifice to the Queen, and the Queen in turn, surrendered herself to the future."_

_"There will be no such surrender," she roared and leaped at him, a tigress after her prey._

_The battle was swift, brutal and with an inevitable end – the tigress become a kitten, mewling softly in the pain of his opening in her – in the agony of creating what was to come…_

_what I have given you…_

_The words echoed softly in her mind_

The young Queen gasped and sat up, pressing a hand first to her chest and then to the flatness of her emptied belly… the final sound of the dream, the rattle of movement at the withdrawal of the male echoing in her memory.

Still weakened from the effects of the drug the Hive Second had forced on her, as she would be for hours yet to come, she knew, she staggered drunkenly toward the door, and in growing frustration attempted to find the mind of the Hive to make it open for her.

She could not allow this altered brood to survive – she could not allow this heresy to continue.

* * *

_what I have given you is a gift of our inception; guard her well_

_interesting – impossible – why? we know that there are those that still exist – lies – you resist your own knowledge, sister – I _urge_ caution – you are afraid – this one is dangerous; the shadows remain – if her dam's mate was one of Second or even Third… – and the young? – tainted – you know this? – You have examined their making to the destruction of one of their number? – it was necessary – nothing of that nature is necessary – another blood runs in their veins – impossible – true; why would I lie? – your fear prevents your objectivity, sister – my fear keeps me hone…_

The gestalt mind was suddenly gripped with the presence of another voice, another mind, strong and terrible in its nature… demanding.

_allooooow thiiiissss_

For the full and spinning hourglass of several long minutes, there was silence in the minds of the circle. It was broken only as the echo of the command died away.

_the gestation must be allowed – I agree – I concur – and I – it is my belief also – the benefits outweigh the concerns_

Outnumbered, she had no choice but to acquiesce.

_then let it be so_

_

* * *

_

Kenny hissed softly, and tightened his grasp around the upper arms of the young Queen, holding her in place to watch as the tendrils carried the barely grown embryos from the depth of the Hive that now stood deep within the belly of the Wraith nursery, to facilitate the transfer.

"You must _stop_ them," she whined. "You do not understand—"

"Did you really think that I would allow you access to their pods, knowing how you feel?" he asked in mild amusement of the attempt she had made to destroy her own offspring. He took a breath and straightened, liking the power he had over this female, this shadow of a queen. "Your commander has decided that these young will live. He is so adamant of that fact that he authorised the use of force against the Sentinels if they did not allow it, so it is perhaps better for all of us that they did."

"Heretic!" she hissed at him, and Kenny laughed at her attempted display of some semblance of power.

"No, my Queen," he sighed then. "The time is coming, when your kind, who have so far led us to nothing but ruination – to the brink of extinction itself – will find your place is not as privileged as you have come to enjoy."

He turned then, releasing the Queen to fall against the glass of the observation room in which they stood, hearing the slight scuff of footfall behind him. The Sentinel waited, head tilted to one side, and he neither knew, nor found that he cared, whether she had overheard his words or not. The circle of Sentinels' overall reverence for life would not allow them to destroy the young, not once they were within their care.

"It is done," she said at long last, and Kenny allowed himself to relax fully then, even to play to the charade of obeisance to the young Queen as she too turned to face the Sentinel, and he reached out to steady her.

"What...?" the young Queen asked, and Kenny was surprised at the sad compassion he heard in the Queen's voice.

"Males all," the Sentinel answered, her voice clipped, "And each of them fertile."

Kenny fought to contain the hiss of contentment at the news, in much the same way that the Queen failed to restrain her sigh of regret.

* * *

The commander of the Hive hesitated for only a moment at the threshold of the Queen's audience chamber, but it may as well have been an eternity as he gazed on the Queen that now graced that space, where once his own insipid Queen had stood.

This Queen, this magnificence of a creature that now dominated the audience hall, as she rightly should, face away from him yet, gazing from the viewing portal at the departing wake of the Hive that had carried her to him, and on which, unprecedented, she had allowed his defeated, now subordinate Queen, to survive and to maintain command in her stead.

"It surprises you?" The Red Queen's voice startled him the rest of the way into her audience chamber, and he lowered himself to one knee before her as she stalked his way, his eyes fixed obediently on the ground.

"My Queen?" he asked, uncertain of her meaning.

"That I allowed your own, mated Queen to survive?" She tipped her head to one side as if she were examining him.

"A little, Great One, I confess," he answered truthfully.

"I cannot be to you as she is," she answered by way of explanation, "and I would not see you denied that… possibility."

"I do not understand," he frowned and risked raising his eyes to look on her.

She was taller than most Queens, and even as ancient as he knew her to be, maintained her youthful, deadly beauty almost flawlessly. Her hair, long and bone white, flowed over her shoulders – shoulders that were uncovered by the soft leather of the dress she wore, which shone with silver accents that were carved and painted into the pliant surface of it. The accents that swirled within the darkness of the leather matched and continued the tattoos, dark, blood red, that graced the surface of her pale green-white skin with eddies of their own.

"Yes," she commanded. "Look on me, and soon, you will understand."

_++understand++ ++understand++ ++understand++ _

The high cheekbones that defined her harsh beauty caught the reflected light of the audience chamber as she put back her head and hissed as though in triumph… and when she turned her amber eyes back to capture his, he trembled with the sudden knowledge that flowed through him.

"What is your command," he asked as he came to his feet, "My Matron."

"I received a coded transmission from the Circle on Pheris IV," she told him. "One that I have been searching for for quite some time has contacted them… has travelled _to_ them, and I have a wish to get there before he departs."

"But the… battle… securing our supremacy. We must—"

_++do not question me++ ++question me++ ++question me++ ++question++ ++question++_

Her mental intrusion held more than the press of words, but showed images… expectations of his greatness under her guidance, under her command… and the vanquishing of the one Wraith she truly believed could be a threat to him…

_(+forgive me, my Matron+)_

"I will set course at once," he lowered his head in respectful obeisance.

"I am glad we understand one another," she said, and ran needle tipped fingers softly down the side of his face to curl beneath his chin to bring his eyes to meet hers once more.


	2. Act 2

**Stargate Atlantis**

Revelation

_Deliver us from evil_

**Act 2**

Head back, snarling with the satisfaction of the life force rushing through him, Todd fed deeply. Life, strength and health returned to him slowly in the wake of the extensive damage even the short exposure to the Hoffan protein had wrought within him.

_"But how… how did you survive? I—"_

_"Perhaps I did not," he rumbled softly, "Rest."_

_"But you're here. You—"_

_"We are both of us here," he murmured as he settled with her, close but not so close as to stir fear of his intent. "And now, my Parmhuna, it must begin."_

"Indeed," he purred and dropped the desiccated corpse onto the ground at the base of the small hut in the depth of the forest where he still hunted. "Now it begins."

His soft sigh mingled with the whisper of the newly fallen leaves. He remembered little of the madness that had consumed him as the serum he had made had warred within his cells with the very poison he sought to counter. He remembered only pain and fear and a hunger so intense that the burning of it threatened even his sense of self.

He sought to forget. Such a thing made him vulnerable, exposed his weakness.

It was a condition he could ill afford – ever, but particularly not at a time when Wraith factions from across the Pegasus Galaxy were gathering in huddled, terrified cabals. Each was seeking the protection of those more powerful than themselves, without the need to surrender to the subjugation of another Hive. It could never work. Yet in their blindness, the few remaining Queens denied the dangers that they saw and retreated behind the arrogance of their own false sense of self-congratulatory omnipotence, and the commanders that followed them surrendered their own strength and power to a failing cause.

"We cannot hide behind a lie," he hissed into the morning air, speaking as much to strengthen his own resolve as for any other reason. Such was the true abomination of the construct that his oldest rival had made of himself in the wake of what the humans of Atlantis had done to him: that he knew the Wraith Queens better than they knew themselves, and manipulated them just as freely as his contempt ran deep. Thus had the war begun, and what the one the humans called _Michael_ had started, _he_ would end… in blood and death, yes, but ultimately in the genesis of a new Wraith era.

The Pegasus Galaxy _would_ be Wraith once more.

* * *

Slow, measured steps carried Kenny away from the simple quarters in which he had confined the young Queen after their return from the nursery. Even though there was much he had to do before he would be ready to take the Hive to the rendezvous coordinates his commander had given to him, to move with hurried steps through the halls of the Hive would have been unseemly.

He did not even turn his head when the Hive's third in command fell into step beside him.

"It is done?" he asked softly.

"The Darts made planetfall several minutes ago, undetected, as you calculated they would be," the Third confirmed.

"Good," Kenny nodded, more to himself than to appease the Hive's third in command, and added sharply. "See to it that they remain that way. As soon as you have confirmation that the rest of our Hive-brothers are in place, make preparations to leave orbit."

"May I enquire as to our destination?" the Third asked softly.

"You may not," Kenny snapped. "Inform me when everything is ready. I will be in the laboratory."

"As you command," the Third said, and bowed his head before turning away.

Kenny sighed. He couldn't afford to lose the loyalty of the Hive Third, not now, when so much hinged upon the next several days. It would hinder his commander's plans were he to have to defend his right to lead the Hive into the very heart of danger.

With another sigh, Kenny turned the corner of a corridor and let his steps begin to carry him toward the laboratory. Obedient to his commander he might be, but he was no longer prepared to follow blindly. He _would_ come to know what it was that was so important about the research that his commander had been undertaking with the human doctor…

_"Doctor Keller." Kenny did not miss the expression of mixed relief and worry as he stepped into the laboratory and his senses screamed at him to remain vigilant. "The Commander is indisposed and has instructed that I see to your needs. Tell me what I may bring to ensure your comfort."_

_"It's all right," she started to tell him. "I'm not hungry."_

_Hard on the heels of her words, a rumbling gurgle issued from her belly. She gave him a smile that he took to be an apology, and tilted his head in query._

_"Or perhaps I am," she said. "Whatever you bring, I'm sure it will be fine."_

_He nodded. For reasons he could not understand, even then, he felt proprietorial concern – almost respect for the youngling. She smiled and thanked him softly before turning back to the computer. The motion was casual, but the flick of her eyes toward the data chip did not go without notice. _

_"In the meanwhile, I'll—" she started._

_"I do not think so, Doctor," she jumped as he closed his hand around her arm as she began to reach out. He felt the heat stream off her as she blushed, but chose not to comment. Instead, knowing that his commander would be displeased should she refuse to comply, continued in his unexplainable protection as he said, "The Commander was most insistent that you went to your rest. He requires your mind fresh when you return to your tasks together."_

_"Oh, I will," she said, and gave him a smile over her shoulder._

_"Go then," he said, almost softly, and nodded toward her adjacent quarters. "I will return shortly with nourishment for you."_

_Moving with her at first, almost as though he was reluctant to release her from the touch he maintained around her arm, he found his mind reached back to the matter of the data chip. It was evidently important to her, and equally as evident that she did not wish for him to know that she intended to purloin it. No doubt she would simply wait until he had left, and return to the laboratory to retrieve it, which would mean that she was not resting… and that would not do._

_He released her, and on silent feet returned to the console to pluck out the chip and close his fist around it._

_"Doctor Keller." He felt her fear amplify, almost physically aware of the knot that had tightened in her belly. He stood passively as she turned around to face him. The smile on her face was an awkward one. Meeting her eyes he said, "I believe you have forgotten something."_

_Shifting the data chip in his hand, he held it up between forefinger and thumb. He saw her swallow, and her eyes twitched wider as her breathing quickened. With a measured, deliberate gait, and still holding her in place with the mere suggestion of his gaze he crossed the laboratory, and carefully set the warmed material into her hand. His fingers, as he closed hers around the crystal prism, were almost gentle._

…if only to understand his own instinct to protect her from discovery of the stolen data.

* * *

When next she woke, it took Vega a moment to remember where she was. As she opened her eyes, a flickering of warm yellow and orange light danced on the ceiling over her head, and the weight of warm blankets covered her. It was almost a balm against the pain that still ached in her body, in her limbs and joints, and deep in her belly. As she moved, turning her head, further pain blossomed from the forgotten, though healing, wound at her throat.

A hunched figure crouched before the fire that had cast the light around her. His back was to her and he leaned forward, as though tending to something within the flames.

"Todd?" she said, and her voice rasped against the dryness.

He turned then, his unkempt hair falling forward as he moved, and without being asked, poured water into a beaker and held it out toward her. Only as he turned did the aroma from the fireplace reach her – roasting meat, the scent of rich, warm juices set her mouth to water. She took in a trembling breath and swallowed hard.

"You are hungry," Todd said, and setting down the cup just out of her reach, turned to pick up a knife and cut a sliver of meat from the spitted animal within the fire. He held it out to her, almost right beneath her nose, the fragrant juices running down his fingers. "Eat."

Her hand trembled as she reached upward to take the meat from his fingers. Her jaw almost ached with the anticipation of the taste, and the watering in her mouth became almost unbearable, but in the same moment as she craved the food, her stomach rebelled and twisted with a sharp nausea. Instead of taking the meat, she pushed his hand away.

"Sorry, I…" she began as she felt the blood draining away from her face, and her trembling increased with the effort of holding back the sickness. "Don't think I'm quite ready for that yet. Let's just try the water first."

"But you must eat, my Alicia," he purred.

"And I will… I will," she promised, "just… in a little while, okay?"

"Hmmm," he growled, and she could hear the uncertainty in his voice. "The water then."

Setting the food down on a nearby platter, he carefully cleaned his hands and then picked up, and offered her the cup, moving to help her sit, and sip at the water. She leaned against him weakly, craving the contact to stop herself from trembling.

"What will happen now? What did you mean?"

"Hmm?" She felt his arms tighten around her at the exchange of questions, before he continued, "Now you will heal sufficiently that we can return to the Hive."

"Then what?" she asked.

"Do not trouble yourself with what is to come, my Parmhuna," he turned her head up until he could capture her eyes with his. "Focus only on becoming well."

His words and the serious, yet softly commanding way in which he delivered them did little to settle her worries. They reached deep within her already churning emotions and grasped a handful of them, tying knots into the tangle of thoughts and fears that battered her defences.

"Todd, you're scaring me," she told him.

"It was never my intention," he answered, drawing her closer against him. She clung to him and had never wanted to cry more than she did in that moment. Yet she could not. "But you must understand that this changes… many things."

"This… this…" She slapped a hand against his chest. There was no real force behind it. She hadn't the strength, but when she drew back her hand to do so again, he caught it in his own. "You keep saying _this._ This _what?_"

"What happened here," he answered, still looking deeply into her eyes, "What came before… what will come after…"

He growled the final word, his eyes becoming hardened flecks of amber coloured flint, a cruel determination settling in that promised suffering and pain. Alicia shivered.

"It's what he wants," she whispered.

"I know," he answered. "What he does not realise is what he has done… and left _un_done."

* * *

Malcolm knew the commander had entered the bridge by the sound of his footfalls, and the sudden increase of tension among his fellow Wraith. He did not need to see or hear the commander to know that he was the cause of it.

Sighing, he tried to ignore the irritation as he would an insect flying or crawling around in his vicinity, and settled his fingers still lightly, but more with more certainty against the Hive interface, falling into an easy, skilful rapport with the semi-sentient vessel. It was almost comfortable.

"Leave the bridge!"

He turned his head and blinked him as the commander came to a halt, clearly addressing him.

"Commander?" he queried.

"I instructed you to leave my bridge," the other Wraith repeated testily. "I would not think that I would have to give such instructions twice."

Malcolm gave a moment's thought to mentally shutting down all systems before disengaging his hands from the controls. It was a fleeting notion, and dismissed as petty – beneath him. Instead he frowned and answered the commander in as mild a tone as he could muster.

"Indeed not, Commander," he said. "I heard the words, I merely wondered as to the wisdom of the order. Since your mind is clearly preoccupied with other worries."

"You dare—!"

As he predicted he would, the commander snarled, and in a display of temper, drew himself up to his full height – though still a full head shorter than Malcolm, even without the addition of the control platform.

"Is there something wrong with expressing my concern for the Hive Commander and for his Hive?" Malcolm interrupted, tilting his head in apparent query – though his eyes were diamond hard.

The commander growled.

"There are matters that require your attention in the lower station," he said. "I would have thought that you would know this."

The commander gestured to the console from which Malcolm had yet to disengage.

"A minor disturbance," Malcolm refused to rise to the commander's bait. "I will deal with the perpetrators in due course. When last I checked, the affairs of the worshipper community was not the Hive Commander's concern, but his Second's."

"It is my concern when it affects the efficient operation of the Hive."

"Perhaps if your concubine were to refrain from agitating situations among the worshippers, such matters would not at all affect your judgement, nor your ability to command this Hive." With that, all mildness left Malcolm's voice and his tone became one to match the chill in his eyes, and in a voice so quiet as to be for the commander's ears alone, said, "or perhaps you consider it acceptable to attend to a mere _human_ before meeting the needs of your Queen?"

"You—"

"Do not think to publicly better me, Commander," he growled, cutting off the commander's tirade before it began. "The same question could be voiced openly – though I doubt there is a Wraith aboard this Hive that has not yet asked themselves that very question."

Malcolm saw the commander's knife even before the other Wraith had it clear of the sheath at his side, and had already ducked aside when the blade came down in the place where his forearm had been mere seconds before, and twisted away from the sparks that flew from the power that arced between the blade and the console.

He was acutely aware that with the action the commander was goading him to draw his own blade, to make a counter attack, and thereby an attempt to take control of the Hive. He was not yet willing to give the commander that satisfaction, for he knew the other Wraith was as aware that the Queen had forbidden such action as he was, and for him to make the challenge would considerably weaken the validity of his claim.

He spread his hands, feigning confusions and asked softly, "Have I offended you, Commander?"

"You are an offense to _all_ Wraith, Outsi—"

"Commander!"

A woman's voice – Jethera's – cut across the escalating conflict, but only served to increase the atmosphere of tension as every pair of Wraith eyes turned her way.

"What are you doing here, Handmaiden?" the commander growled.

"I am here as the voice of Our Queen," she said formally, "at Her behest… She bids you come. She desires your counsel."

The Hive Commander turned to glance at Malcolm, and for a moment he truly believed the other would ignore the woman, and the words she carried. Malcolm inclined his body in the slightest of acknowledging bows to the woman, and noted that many of the others around him did the same.

"As… the Queen commands," the Hive Commander said eventually, stiffening his back as he withdrew his blade from the console.

As he left to attend the Queen, Malcolm tipped his head in query, meeting Jethera's eyes. He did not miss the warning he saw there. _Attend the lower station – and soon._

_

* * *

_

Michael stared at the analysis of the DNA strands tumbling slowly over his monitor; a steady progression from concern toward a dreadful worry moving over his watchful features. Even in the sample he had taken days ago, mutation of certain key protein sequences was occurring, albeit with declining frequency, but in the most recently drawn blood, the rate of transcription was alarming.

His fingers flashed over the keyboard, freezing and then magnifying a single protein sequence, electronically deconstructing the amino acids, trying to identify the trigger and a way to neutralise its actions, or at the very least, some way to support the integrity of the surrounding proteins.

"Without destroying that which you have, in your arrogance, creat—"

Cursing himself for his lack of vigilance, Michael sent a crushing mental backlash toward the Wraith Queen's intrusion. Her answering cry, becoming one of rage at his audacity, amused him enough to calm his own seething anger.

"Your continued survival and relative comfort would best be served by remaining silent," he warned. His continued worry for Teyla maintained the edge in his voice.

"You cannot save her," the Queen mocked, heedless of his warning. "She was already condemned by the heresy in her blood before you even—"

He moved then, clearing the corner of the bench in a single terrifyingly fast leap and silenced the Queen with a physical slap.

"You speak of that which you do not understand," he growled, clamping his fingers over her throat. He stared into her psyche and hissed, "Be _silent_!"

_-silence- -silence- -silence- -silence- -silence-_

"You _cannot_ save her," she rasped against both physical and mental interdiction. "We were _never_ able to save the hosts, and she will—"

"Hosts…" Michael repeated the single word, a new understanding flowing through him, and a sharp new suspicion dawning. Dismissing the Queen and her words from his attention, he returned to his workstation and began to load apparently disparate data into his console, including the information Beckett had delivered to him in seeking his assistance on behalf of Doctor Keller.

"Sir?"

He was so focussed on the rapidly building profile that he had not heard or felt the approach of one of his hybrid soldiers.

"It can wait," he snapped, looking up from his work only when his subordinate contradicted him.

"No, Sir."

Michael frowned, and snatched the proffered tablet from the hybrid's hands. His already frowning countenance darkened still further, as he tracked the trajectory of the Wraith Hive that had triggered his early warning system, to its only logical destination.

"When?" he demanded.

"They were detected moments ago," the hybrid responded immediately.

"Set an intercept course," Michael snapped. The Wraith could not be allowed to interfere with the progression of his work at that facility. It was vital that the experiments he conducted there be allowed to run their course.

His eyes flicked once to the side to take in the arrogant defiance in the Queen's narrowed eyes, and then he turned his head to take in the alarmingly similar sequence of amino acids still displayed on the screen.

"And bring Doctor Beckett to me," he added, archly declaiming, "It is long past time that he and I had a little chat."

* * *

Vega stumbled and winced, grabbing hold of Todd's arm as he reached across to steady her, before he wrapped his arm around her and drew her against him. They stopped for a moment and Vega felt herself trembling against him. The deep ache that bloomed from inside her belly spread like a weed through her limbs, sapping her strength as they would strangle a healthy meadow flower.

"I'm sorry," she murmured against Todd's chest.

"It is I who should crave _your_ forgiveness, my Alicia," he answered. "I have pushed you too far and too fast."

"No, no," she said and looked up at him, honest with the emotion she knew would be written on her face. "I just want to get away from here."

She felt the rumble that rolled through Todd's chest as he closed his eyes. She could only imagine what thoughts were running through his mind, what emotions, but she was almost certain that guilt would be one of them.

"Todd," she said softly. "It… what happened… wasn't your fault."

She expected an outburst of rage, an explosion of his temper. When it did not come, a vibrating chill began to flow through her veins in place of her blood.

He opened his eyes and fixed hers with an expression more intense than she had ever received. His voice, when he spoke, was a deep labyrinth, echoing on itself, though softly.

"Never say this to me again," he told her.

"Why not?" she asked him, just as softly. "It's true. You couldn't have known he would—"

"Because of my carelessness, you were assaulted, almost died at the hands of a Wraith who has already made threats against you in order to weaken _me._ I should have anticipated this," he insisted. "I should not have left you here without… more adequate protection."

"You're… behaving as if I were… I dunno," she finished, unable to bring herself to speak the word in her mind.

"My queen?" Todd asked, speaking it for her. "No, Alicia, never that."

Alicia swallowed, and a part of her couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at his admission, for did not the Wraith adore their queens?

"What then?" she asked, failing to keep the edge from her voice as the bitterness of that disappointment snapped at her already fragile emotions.

"The Queens have become corrupt, and with it have corrupted all Wraith," he explained softly, "Would you have me consider you thusly?"

"No, but I—"

He took one of her hands from where she had clenched it into a fist against his chest, and uncurling her fingers, placed a deeply sensual kiss against her palm.

"My Parmhuna," he rumbled softly against her hand, "It is you that has awakened in me the Wraith once borne in this unclean flesh; you that has reminded me of purpose and of the place of Wraith in this galaxy. You have given me back the freedom that was once taken from me, and for that… for that you will always mean more to me than any queen. I should have protected you."

Vega shivered again at the tone in his voice, the soft promise of menace hidden in the triple layered utterance.

"What… will you do?" she asked, instinct driving her closer to him. "I don't want you to risk yourself any more because of this." Freeing her hand from his light grasp, she reached for his feeding hand and ran her thumb softly over the puckered feeding maw at its centre, drawing a sharp breath from Todd. "You have already risked too much."

"Alicia," he warned, drawing out her name. "I will do as Wraith honour demands."

"Todd—" she started to protest, but stopped as he pulled his feeding hand out of hers, away from her still present caresses.

"It will be done," he hissed. Then, as if banishing the tension from his body on the next outward breath, he added, "Come. There are many miles before we reach the ship that will carry us back to the Hive."

* * *

As soon as they began to release their grip on his arms, Beckett snatched himself away from the flanking hybrids, coming to a halt behind Michael. The Wraith-Human hybrid's attention was still focussed on the display screen of a powerful computer-enhanced microscope. What little Beckett could see of the screen past Michael's shoulder told him that it was a genetic sequence that the other studied, but even the curiosity kindled in him, the almost instinctive desire to understand what it was that Michael was studying did little to calm the worried frustration at being treated as he was.

"You know very well that I'm no threat to you, Michael," he said, as much to announce his presence as to voice his concerns.

"You of all people," Michael began to answer even before he turned around to face him, "should know that where my work is concerned, I will accept nothing more than complete caution."

"In case you've forgotten," Beckett said, taking a half step forward, still flanked by the hybrid soldiers, until Michael waved them away with barely a breath of movement from one hand. "_I'm_ the one that came to _you_."

"For my help," Michael snapped, "Yes. The irony of it does not escape me, Doctor, and yet I cannot help but feel suspicious of your motivations."

"No," Beckett shook his head. He had worked with Michael long enough to know that he said only as much as he had to, and that most of what he said usually had layers of meaning, like an onion, which grew stronger, the closer to the centre one reached. "You're suspicious of what Sheppard and the others might be trying to find out, but I promise you, they know _nothing_ of my even coming here. I came to you as a last resort. I've tried _everything_ I know to help my patient, even called in a consultant from Earth – someone whose expertise runs rings around my own and—"

_The breeze made ripples in the grass around his hand where he leaned against it, watching the sunlight reflecting warmly from the smile on her face, her deep brown eyes quickly becoming the focus of his gaze – accentuated as they were by the light colours of the fabric with which she wrapped her head. Then she chuckled, and leaned forward to pluck the strand of grass from between his teeth._

_"Carson, have you any idea how many foreign proteins you are putting into your system right now?" she scolded him playfully. "If you are so hungry that you cannot wait, we—"_

_"Goats do just fine, thank you very much," he teased._

_"And you are no goat," she fired at him rapidly in Arabic. It was a common, comfortable exchange, and the fondness it spoke warmed him, but the ease of it was strained, and the warmth soon faded, as she sighed._

_"Haya—"_

_"No, don't use that word unless you mean it," he interrupted, his own sigh punctuating the sentence. The radiance of the moment faded as if the sun had gone behind a cloud._

_"Habibi," she amended sadly, "it is just that there is too much yet to be done here. I cannot abandon years of research to—"_

He hadn't even felt the warning sensations that usually accompanied Michael's intrusion into his mind, as the memory flooded over him, almost like the physical touch that had accompanied her words. He tried to pull away with an increasing fear building in him as Michael sifted through more and more of his recollections, but as always, if not stronger than before, Michael's grasp was too strong. He acted before he even registered what he was attempting to do.

"Don't... you...!" He managed to take another half step toward Michael, this time in protective anger, before the hybrids caught his arms. Their restraint wasn't necessary. As soon as he'd moved, Michael's presence in his mind shifted just enough to still his motion, hold him fast.

"You truly think that this is something that I have not already seen?" Michael asked, his tone one caught between amusement and threat. "Why is it that you believe you need the assistance of such an expert? A remedial exobiological geneticist can only assist if there is cause to suspect the action of—"

"And you don't?" Beckett interrupted, moving past Michael to point at the display on the monitor. He felt Michael turn to regard the image. As he did, he continued, "I'll admit, at first it does appear to be the action of some kind of virulent retrovirus, but the transcription patterns are all wrong for that, they—"

Michael reached out and switched the display to another image. If not for his own expertise at working at the genetic level, Carson might have believed that the visual representation of the DNA on the screen was another image of the data he'd brought to Michael in the first place – Keller's data – but a single, and disturbingly familiar sequence of chromosomes caught his eye, and knotted his tongue into frightened silence.

"This is hybrid DNA," he said when he could finally catch his breath. "Natural hybrid DNA."

Michael merely nodded in confirmation, only speaking after several minutes; several _long_ minutes in which Carson had moved closer to the workstation and without invitation, or hesitation, began manipulating the view – programming and running a number of short simulations.

"Several generations along from the point of successful hybridisation, with reproduction only along the human chromosomal pathway," Michael confirmed. "Yet maintaining the functional Chimera Radical, the same radical that you and I have both identified in the genetic sample you provided from Doctor Keller."

"Michael..." Beckett whispered, his blood chilling to match the ambient cold of the laboratory.

"You _know_ the function of the Chimera Radical, Doctor Beckett," Michael went on, and to Carson's ears, he couldn't help but hear worry amid the usual impatience for those who overlooked the obvious. "I fail to understand why you have not considered that possibility in your patient."

"Because," Carson swallowed hard as he turned to lean on the workbench, looking up into Michael's face. "Because she's completely asymptomatic, that's why."

Michael shook his head, and reached past him to align the samples side by side on the monitor.

"Take a closer look, Doctor," Michael said almost softly, "The Chimera Radical exists to make transcription between Wraith and Human, or modified hybrid cells possible, but not..."

Beckett turned back to the monitor only when Michael swallowed hard and broke from speaking to call up another image to the screen along with the first two. The new image was one that was frighteningly familiar to him, from the last time he had worked with Michael.

_"Aye, but that's not for the strand we were talking about," Beckett sighed, "Face it, Michael, this method is just too complex and requires far too much direct manipulation for the subject to survive."_

_"It __**must**__ be made possible," Michael snarled._

_"And what are you going to threaten me with __**this**__ time?" Beckett demanded. "None of it will change the fact that without some pre-existing genetic variance from genotype, the two, no matter how similar, are far too incompatible to be able to produce viable cell division."_

Carson felt the blood drain from his face, and he started to feel a little light-headed as he turned his gaze up to meet Michael.

"I can see you understand, Doctor," Michael said.

"You found and programmed the necessary variance," he whispered softly, his mind reeling, trying to make sense of the new information in his possession, and more importantly, what it might mean for Keller. "How?"

"It is surprising what the mind will do," Michael answered dangerously, "in order to escape the pain of torture."

Beckett looked back at the display, trying not to let Michael's words, nor his tone of voice affect him; frighten him any more than he already was as reality began to press in around him.

"But the Chimera Radical, and the genotype variance aren't enough, are they, Michael, to sustain the process," he asked.

"They never have been, Doctor Beckett," he answered softly, "for it was intended that we would _never_. Survive."

It would have taken a lesser man an impossible leap of understanding to follow Michael's inherent meaning, but Beckett, knowing the direction Michael had been taking his research, comprehended the dreadful reality of what Michael was intimating: the progression of the Wraith's evolution in the past.

"What happened?" he asked. "If that's true, then how did you—"

"Evolution," Michael answered. "The one thing the Alterans did not count upon."

"Alte—you mean the Ancients?"

"I mean, Doctor, that even the most hidden and insidious failsafe mechanisms possess an inbuilt work-around and with the correct knowledge and application of carefully nurtured science—"

"My God, Michael," Beckett gasped as the realisation occurred that Michael was not only talking about the past. "What have you done?"

* * *

Kenny took in a deep, almost fearful breath as the smoke began to clear away from the now opened door. It had taken many drones to successfully breech the door, and most of them had been killed in the ensuing, though, he was quick to notice, localised explosion, but now the facility lay open to him – for him to complete his mission.

There would be little time for dalliance, he knew. His commander had warned him that the Abomination would have detected their presence long before they landed and would already be on his way to defend his property – his science.

"Second?"

The soft query from his subordinate commander brought him out of his worried reverie, and he nodded.

"Proceed with caution," he instructed, "there is no knowing how many more of those devices are hidden within the facility. It will serve us little if we do not survive to bring the research materials back to the Hive.

"Are you certain the commander has provided you with sufficient information to achieve—" the subordinate's voice held trepidation, even fear as he peered past Kenny into the darkness of the laboratory beyond.

"You doubt?" he snapped, turning an irritated stare his underling's way. The anger on his face was aimed inward, however, and not, as would appear, at his subordinate. He had experienced such doubts himself. This was, after all, one of the Abomination's facilities and so, as the Lantean soldier in whom his commander had so far placed such store would say, _all bets were off._

"Forgive me, Second," the subordinate Wraith stepped back and gave a half obeisance. "I merely—"

Kenny waved off his apology, and without a word strode ahead, stepping into the swallowing darkness.

He blinked to clear his vision and allow himself to adjust to the sudden dim illumination that flared from the glassy walls of the laboratory. It was a soft green light that had answered the presence of his Wraith DNA, he realised; a power saving mechanism. What did the unfortunate creatures held within the stasis tanks – for Kenny could now see that the tanks, in fact, lined the room – need with light?

Turning his attention to the content of the tanks, he swallowed hard. Made more eerie still by the shifting quality of the light on the fluid within the glass containers, the creatures were the products of fevered Wraith nightmares. Humanoid and in various stages of… of what – hybridisation…? Hardly; for humans as the Abomination had hybridised them looked nothing like these monsters – the creatures resembled the feeding beetles found on many worlds throughout the Pegasus Galaxy that had somehow evolved toward a bipedal existence. Their skin was blackened, chitinous and the flesh of their back more closely resembled a carapace than skin and bone. Arms ended in claws where hands should be, and their sightless, though open eyes reflected the sickly, green light from myriad facets of insectoid eyes.

Kenny shivered, and moved along the line of tanks that flanked the walls; seeking, searching for the form that his commander had promised would exist. As he moved further into the room, the strength of the insects' influence and characteristics in the subjects held in stasis lessened. The subjects began to appear more human and yet...

He shivered again, and this time the trembling continued as he realised that it was not more _human_ that the preserved creatures resembled, but _Wraithlike._ Hair whitened, faces bore not one set but two, sometimes three sets of sensory pits, and gone was the hardened, blackened shell, to be replaced by grey-green tough-looking hide, which covered the still slightly stooped, but undeniably female, creatures. He blinked, and half turned back to look along the line of tanks. When had he missed the transition from insect to mammal?

"Insane," he hissed, disgust filling him to the point of the unfamiliar feeling of nausea. Once, as a younger Wraith, pre-adolescent, he recalled, he had consumed food that had been spoiled in the madness of hunger at his coming need to feed. He had lain three days lost in fever and sickness that he feared would never end. The feeling returned to him now, roiling in his stomach as the puzzle pieces began to assemble in his mind. He turned again to look down the line, hardly daring to imagine what he might find at the far end of the laboratory. "You seek to recreate—"

"Second," his subordinate appeared at his side once more, somewhat grounding his horror and speaking rapidly, "we've found another door. Should we attempt to open it?"

"Show me," he commanded.

He kept his eyes averted from the lighted creatures as he followed his subordinate to the end of the laboratory, to where the door stood off to the left of two tanks that he could not help but notice remained unlit. Movement from within the darkened fluid led him to believe that, unwittingly, he may have discovered the object of his search. He pushed the thought away, though increasingly aware of the passage of time through the silent countdown his mind had been keeping, and turned his attention to the door the other Wraith had brought him to. He narrowed his eyes, and considered the dimensions of the room compared to what they knew of the structure. It could be that the door was merely another entrance point from the opposite side of the facility. The dimensions were close, or it could mean that the doorway led to a further annex – he feared the answer would be given by the contents of the figures inside the stasis tanks that remained dark.

"Have the drones make an attempt, but with caution," he instructed. "I believe it will prove to be of little import, then attend me. I will need your assistance."

With a reluctant heart, Kenny retraced his steps until he stood before the unlighted tanks, peering into the fluid with his nose almost pressed to the glass. He could feel the ambient heat from within reaching out to caress his cheeks, and with the imagined touch the feeling of dread that mingled with the fading nausea in his gut increased.

The unseen current within the tank's fluid carried the occupant closer to the glass, a halo of long, white-blonde hair spread toward Kenny as he peered within, mesmerised and unable to pull away. The grey, dead looking flesh that followed was veined with darker greenish lines that spread over the sides of the creature's cheeks, upward towards its temples, and a single pair of sensory pits graced the skin beneath butterfly shaped eye sockets and the pronounced ridges of its brow… _her_ brow – Kenny unwittingly corrected himself as the movement of the current turned the creature and brought her body closer to reveal breasts and sex to his gaze.

The creature bumped against the glass, carried on invisible waves, and Kenny couldn't help but recoil, pushing away from the warm glass with trembling fingers; away from that which his commander had sent him to collect, unwilling, even when the evidence floated – literally – in front of his eyes, of all that they had fiercely debated in the weeks since Doctor Keller and the other Lanteans had left the Hive ship. He turned his head away from the unsettling vision in front of him, to locate his subordinate commander.

"Get her out of there," he commanded, his voice sounding shrill even to his own ears. "And be ready to leave at once. We're running out of time."

The audible bubbling from within the tank pulled his attention back that way, and it was all he could do to suppress the shrill breath that gathered at his throat when he found himself staring into the creature's green-gold eyes through the haze of ascending bubbles.

* * *

Teyla winced, and grasped the side of Nethaiye's crib for support as she tried to get up and found her legs unwilling to support her. She felt almost as though she had been working out for hours, her limbs tired and almost trembling beneath her.

"Madam?" Midani's hand closed around her forearm, "Teyla?"

"I am all right," she said, standing straighter, and turning a smile, that she did not feel, Midani's way. "I have been sitting too long and my legs are asleep, that is all."

In a moment or two of standing doing nothing else, the strange feeling passed, and relaxing a little, Teyla started to wonder if perhaps the excuse for her stumble had, in fact, been the truth. She gave the girl a more genuine smile and pulled away from her supportive grasp.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I am all right. I am sure there are things you need to attend to. Please... go to your rest, Midani. I shall soon go to mine."

"Yes, Teyla," Midani answered, managing to make her name sound more like a title to Teyla's ears, and her following good wishes more like a frightened command. "Rest well."

"I shall," she answered, beginning to move away, to move toward the full length viewing port at the far side of the room. "You also."

Though she knew exactly when the other woman left her quarters, Teyla dismissed her from her attention long before she bid her the absent goodnight. Her mind was too busy; too full of discoveries, and revelations which disturbed her conscience where Michael was concerned. Yes, he had taken her people and many others and turned them against their will into his soldiers, hybrid slaves to his _Cause_, and yet... what choice did he have if he were to survive? Yes, he had been the instrument of hundreds of thousands of deaths throughout the galaxy when he released the Hoffan protein, yet, by his word he had done so in an effort to protect his work, and to afford those whose sympathies lay with his efforts to destroy the Wraith some protection against being fed upon. He _had_ attempted to perfect the drug, but had run out of time for the luxury of finding that perfection and thus saving lives. Should she hate him any more for what he had done, than she should Doctor Beckett for assisting in its creation in the first place?

She sighed as the thoughts raced through her mind, and leaned against the viewing port to watch as the colours danced and swirled around the Hive as it made its way through hyperspace.

"And what of you, Nethaiye?" she asked softly. "Where best can I protect you from the horror this galaxy has become?"

It was an entirely selfish thought. She knew that, but it was at least an honest one as she sought to find peace with the decision she knew in her mind – her heart – that she had made. It would not be easy, she knew, to stay – not for her conscience and not for her compassion, and not for the deepening, almost painful feelings which, once she had admitted them to herself, had only grown to be the whole of her truth for the one whose life she had, albeit unwittingly, shared since the beginning.

* * *

He paused, hesitating at the doorway as he watched her standing; leaning against the viewing port. He could feel her agitation, and the turmoil of emotions swirling, like the interplay of colours the passage of the Hive through subspace caused to be. He wanted to give her shelter – solace from the difficulties she faced, and _would_ face in the coming time.

Silently he crossed the room to stand behind her, just within arms' reach, and stretched out an almost hesitant hand. The tips of his fingers fell short of brushing against the edges of her hair as he stood, in awe of her beauty; her compassion, and emotion she kindled in him.

_One day... perhaps... you will understand._

"...Michael..."

Teyla whispered his name, reaching behind her, her fingers outstretched, searching for contact.

"Yes, Teyla," he answered softly, and still hesitant in his movements, gently ran his hand down from her shoulder to cover her hand with his own. He moved in closer as she began to lean back, so that she could find support against his chest. "I am here."

"I was thinking," she told him, and he couldn't help but hear the fatigue he felt in her colouring her voice. He swallowed hard, his concern for her doubling.

"About?" he asked.

"Our child."

"Child?"

He took in a sharp breath, pushing against her mind with his own, deepening the contact between them to reach for; discover what knowledge and understanding dwelled within. His stomach rolled and tightened inside.

She turned then, without ever breaking the physical contact between them, and looked up into his frowning countenance.

"Nethaiye," she said, meeting his eyes. "Whatever you may have told yourself until now, he truly _is_ our child for all that you were not the one that fathered him."

Michael swallowed again, hard, and took a deep breath before he answered, flicking his eyes away from the caramel depths of her gaze. He sought to control the lingering jealousy, as well as the relief that took a hold at her words. She did not know. Nor yet did she understand the extent to which his manipulation – genetic, emotional, and physical – had intervened in the creation of her son.

"Of course. Yes," he said at length. "What do you need? I will have it brought to you at once. I—"

She shook her head, and the words ceased as if she had commanded him to silence.

"Only your promise, Michael," she said, and reached out to cup the side of his face in the palm of her hand. In spite of himself he leaned into the warmth of the touch. "That whatever happens, you—"

"I told you," he interrupted, "I will care for the both of you. I will allow nothing to happen to you, or to the child."

_-the palms of your hands, my Parmhunaeterna... my life-_

She took in a breath, and let it out slowly, accepting his words, he knew, as she leaned against him, her cheek against the rising and falling of his chest.

"You need to rest, Teyla," he told her, letting go of her hand to wrap his arm around her, the palm of his hand coming to rest flat against the small of her back. "Please."

"Where are we going?" She looked up at him again, though, he noted, she did not fight him as he began to move them across the chamber toward the bed. "Won't you tell me?"

"We are travelling toward Ataxis III," he told her, "to protect one of my research facilities. There is no cause for concern."

"Then why do I feel it in you?" she challenged. He could not help but chuckle. "What is it?"

"I should know better than to attempt to hide that particular emotion from you," he answered, his amusement still softening his temper. "Truly, Teyla, there is no cause for you to be concerned. My detection grid sends many warnings. This one I merely chose to investigate personally."

"What is on Ataxis III that is so important," she asked, astute as always.

He saw no reason to obfuscate and said, "The genetic material with which I will increase my army of hybrids, using the cloning facility, is maturing in a laboratory hidden deep within the planet's wilderness."

"How long before we arrive?"

"Rest, Teyla," he insisted, nodding toward the bed as they arrived beside it. "I will tell you nothing more."

She sighed, and he could tell she was extending her patience – though not toward him and his reticence to share with her the details of their mission, but toward her own fatigue. His worry for her blossomed once again, and he began to gently, but firmly ease her onto the bed.

"Stay," she caught his hand as he moved to straighten, reaching for the blanket with which to cover her.

"I will," he told her.

_-until you are sleeping-_

_...why am I so tired?..._

_-rest, Teyla- -rest- -rest- -rest- -rest-_

He did not release the hold on her mind until he felt sleep take hold... until he was certain that her mind and body both were at rest.

* * *

It was a ridiculous turn of events, but a deadly truism that, were he to act against the ring of small human women that surrounded him, he would be dead before he could draw a second breath.

The Wraith commander had to satisfy himself that, before they had apprehended him, he had been able to discover the information that his Queen had demanded of him.

"I will ask you one final time, Commander," the woman of the Sentinel's Guard snapped, with no deference to his race or position. "Why are you here, without invitation, inside the gestation chamber assigned to the Queen of a Hive other than your own?"

"I follow the commands of my Queen," he answered, telling them nothing even as he answered.

"If your queen has questions, she should address them to the Sentinels, as is the correct Protocol," the woman countered.

"Protocol be damned!" he hissed, taking a step toward her even though the blades of each and every woman twitched closer as he did. "Do you not know – do your Sentinel Mistresses not know – that you nurture—"

"We do as the Circle has decided, Commander," interrupted a new voice, and immediately the press of weapons around him, all bar the one that rested against his belly, withdrew. "Nothing more, and no less."

He glanced downward as he sensed movement, and watched as the blue-tattooed hand closed around the taught wrist of the head guards-woman, carefully moving the blade away from his belly.

He took his own step forward, and bowing his head, came to one knee before the Sentinel as she lowered her hood. He felt her stand immobile, and bathed within the tension of her silence, listening to the tap tap tap of retreating footsteps. The guards had been dismissed. The realisation made him look up, seeking the deep green orbs of the Sacred One before him.

"Madam?" he asked softly.

"Your queen is wise to fear what is developing here," she answered, cutting right to the heart of the matter behind his question, "and what will come after."

"My Queen does not fear—"

Her sudden motion silenced him. She dropped to his level, her hands reaching, her right for the centre of his chest, her left for the side of his head at the level of his temple. Instinct told him he should act; defend himself, yet even as the notion registered consciously her hands were already in place and the skirts of her dress billowed, cloudlike around them both as they settled.

The sharp bite of the barbs against his chest was nothing compared to the pain of the connection at his temple as the Sentinel pushed her awareness upon his. His head fell back and he hissed sharply. Trembling he tried to force his own hands to motion, to free himself from the strangeness in the contact. He could feel her feeding, drawing forth his life, yet so slowly it was almost gentle. The crushing pain at his head was another matter, as his vision blurred and colour danced before his eyes.

"Hear me, Commander, for there is not time to speak of what you must hear. You are in grave danger here – you and all Wraith. Save us. Keep us from the blasphemy wrought on us in this act. Those which develop here can bring only pain and death. Theirs is the way of war that will come after. Nothing good can come of this."

_The words faded as images began to flash before his eyes; images out of legend – bed time stories told to Wraith young of a world that existed at the heart of a great red darkness and of a Queen so great and fearsome that to be in her presence alone meant death at a mere thought from her mind… and yet she divided, became five instead of one, but fell away into the arms of a single Wraith commander, and not the oblivion of death. The Five became little more than newborns, borne away in the arms of obedient human servants, returned to their mothers' bodies as though they had not yet been born… mothers with lifeless eyes – decaying flesh. The Fearsome Queen turned in the arms of her consort, reached for him, closed her fingers around his heart, and tore it, still beating from a chest scarred with the mark of many feedings._

_The consort stumbled away; fell at the feet of another male, taller – almost regal – and with a strength that could almost be felt. The new Wraith male tipped his head to the side and reaching down, fed deeply from the already dying consort, until there was nothing left but a thin layer of white-green dust on the floor of the lofty hall that shifted and changed around him. The Queen drew closer, reaching for her new consort, who became nothing more than a pillar of white light – painful to view, that flashed like lightening against a gathering darkness… and against the darkness fell within the womb of a dark haired queen, to battle there, twin serpents the bright of the white against the dark of a blood-red river…_

"It was never meant to be," the sentinel hissed and released him.

He fell backward, gasping… rolled to his side, fighting for breath as though the feeding had taken more of his life than a mere tender moment. The whole of him was on fire… and shaking with it he forced himself to his feet, intent on reaching his own Hive.

* * *

Todd let out a long, slow hiss as he led Alicia down from the scout ship to stand on the comforting solidity of the Hive's Dart Bay, instinctively stepping half in front of her as he noticed the approach of the Hive's second in command and the accompanying honour guard.

"Commander," the Second bowed his head in obedience to his command of the Hive. Todd relaxed as he reached out mentally to brush a query against the neural network of the Hive ship and her Wraith crew.

"All is well?" he asked, satisfied as to the Hive Second's continued loyalty.

"All has progressed according to your orders, Commander," his second in command answered. "We are ready to proceed."

He nodded.

"Good," he let out another breath, hunger burning at his breast. Now that all was ready, everything in its place, he could proceed in his plan for retribution against the one that had dared to lay hand upon that which was not his. "Return to the bridge, and prepare the course that I have given you. I must convey my companion to her quarters."

"Commander…" the Second began, and Todd turned a frown his subordinate's way.

"You have a problem with my orders?" he demanded.

"I merely question the wisdom of attacking the territory of another Hive – let alone _that_ Hive," the Second said.

"Your objection is noted," Todd rumbled softly, knowing that would, for the time being, appease his second in command's honour, and by the time anything more would be necessary, the other Wraith would already understand the reason and the necessity of hitting the Elder Hive where it would hurt them – in the heart of their feeding grounds. "Now – do as I command."

"At once, My Commander," the Second said, with a bow, and immediately retreated to go and carry out his orders. The honour guard remained behind ready to escort their Commander on his way.

Todd turned to Alicia, holding out his left hand, and closing his fingers around hers, as she settled a hesitant touch against his palm.

"Allow me to take you to your rest, my Alicia," he purred gently, calming now that he could be surer of her safety.

"Will you stay?" she asked nervously.

"No," he answered, "but I will return to you, and join you later. First I must see to the needs of our Hive."

* * *

Still trembling, the Wraith commander waited for the Red Queen to speak. His limbs still ached, and it was all that he could do to remain upright and steady on one knee. His head still ached, and his temple itched the way it had not done since he had received his line's tattoo. He couldn't help but spare a fleeting thought for the state of that now, and what the bite of the Sentinel's touch would have done to the starburst pattern of it on his flesh.

"She told you this?" the Red Queen said at last.

"Showed me… My Matron," he answered, his voice almost breaking with the effort of it. "Would you have me act? The Ancient One's suggestion was clear. That one's offspring cannot be allowed to—"

"_I_ will decide what is to be done!" she hissed, her feeding hand coming to a trembling halt mere inches from his already aching chest. His downturned, obedient gaze noted that her fingers trembled. She hissed softly, and that trembling eased as the Red Queen relaxed. "If I had wished for you to destroy that Queen's young, I would have sent you with an army to take the facility for _our_ Hive."

"Of course, my Queen," he answered. "Forgive me, I…"

"You _need_ to feed," she purred, and closed the fingers of her left hand beneath his elbow, to draw him to his feet, supporting him as he swayed slightly. "It is the touch of the Sentinel that has done this."

She released him then, and turned to step away, gesturing for him to follow. He stumbled before he could find his balance again.

"Did you know," she told him as he shadowed her, "that it is forbidden for any Wraith to touch the Ancient Ones… and taboo to allow such a touch to be made…"

He swallowed hard, fearing suddenly that the Red Queen would turn on him for having broken such a Wraith law.

"I… was unaware," he answered truthfully. Most Wraith would be, he knew, since few ever laid eyes upon the Sentinels, or even believed in their existence.

The Red Queen put back her head and laughed, and the commander winced as one at a time the three entrances to the Queen's Chamber hissed closed, sealing him in with her – completely at her mercy.

"Sit," she ordered as they reached the top of the dais.

"My Queen," he protested, "Matron…"

"Sit," she repeated, and pushed at him. It was barely a touch she gave him, but in his current state he stumbled again, and fell into, rather than sat down upon the Red Queen's throne. "Do you believe you are of use to me like _this_?"

He opened his mouth to answer. His words became a cry as the Queen's feeding hand descended faster than a whip and latched on just as swiftly. Molten fire flowed into him, his head spun faster and then settled into an almost peaceful bliss as his Matron Queen strengthened him – gave him life… then lowered her head until they touched brow to brow.

"Now, my son," she whispered as she withdrew the Gift, "We will allow these little creatures to mature. There are far more important matters for us to attend to than the errant actions of a single, lesser Queen."

* * *

On her knees, Isla kept her face downturned but flicked her eyes up to take in the sight of the Hive Second as he stood before the assembled worshippers. In that instant she took in the tension of his anger that rippled through the leather clad, muscled thighs and powerful forearms, even though his fingers appeared to be at rest. She knew such anger, and knew the danger in it.

"You would have me believe," he said, the triple tones in his voice dripping sarcasm over the Handler that knelt at her side, "that this single weak and insignificant female sought to contaminate the entire Hive?"

She closed her eyes, fighting the stab of pain that rose in her heart at the words he used… _insignificant…_for such she was to him now.

"I am certain of it, Lord," the Handler replied. "I have proof. I caught her—"

"Bring me this proof!" he roared, and even Isla cringed. The Handler scurried to his feet and tore clean across the lower station to his quarters. She knew what she would see on his return… the small vial of liquid that the Hive Third had given to her, with instructions to pour it into the water supply for the Hive… but she would not admit to this – would not implicate her new master in whatever crime it was he would have had her commit.

She had given up. The time now had come for her death and the swifter it came, to her mind, the better, and if it came at the hands of the Hive Second, so much the better, for there was no other to whom she would more gladly lay down her life. She looked up at him then, spilling the hotness of her tears onto her cheek.

_{Isla, what have you done?} {what have you done?} {done} { done} { done} { done}_

The touch of his mind within hers one last time was too much for her, and she began to sob openly… covered her face with her hands and curled into a ball at his feet.

* * *

Malcolm closed his eyes and let out a soft growl. He could not believe that she would have done such a thing, when her only act before had been in defence of Wraith; her every action loyal, heedless of her own needs. How could he save her from this?

"My Lord."

His eyes snapped open at the Handler's voice, and he glared at the man as though daring him to give proof of the treachery of one whose heart was naught but pure. The Handler pressed a small, stoppered vial into his hands.

Slowly, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing, he raised the vial into his field of vision, holding its deep, purple content to the light and allowing the light to spill over his face. He almost laughed.

_Malcolm paused at the door to the Queen's private chambers, frowning as he watched the scientist, still standing over the prone figure of the queen, fastening his belt. The scientist seemed completely unsurprised at his presence, almost as though it had been he that had summoned Malcolm._

_His eyes narrowed still further as the scientist pocketed the small bottle of deep purple fluid, making no attempt to hide it from Malcolm's eyes._

_"I was the one that summoned you," the scientist confirmed, then looking at the Queen, as if to confirm Malcolm's unspoken suspicion, said, "There will be no new queen from this union, but __**she **__will have needs. You will see to them."_

"Where did you get this?" Malcolm snapped the question at Isla, trusting she would hear, in the softer undertone of his voice, that she would be safe, no matter her answer.

"I cannot say, my Lord," she answered, "I will not implicate another in my actions."

_{tell me, Isla. Wraith or Human?} {Human} {Wraith} {Human} {Wraith}_

"My Lord," she cried, an appeal for him to stop. "Please…"

"I gave her the vial," the Hive Third's voice followed hard, almost an echo of the appeal, and turning, Malcolm saw Jethera hovering in the shadow behind the Hive Third. "When you have a moment, Hive Second, I would speak with you."

"I have a moment now," Malcolm growled softly, turning his balefully angry stare back on the Handler, "Now that this motherless rabble is no longer wasting my time."

"Indeed," the Hive Third purred.

Fixing the unlucky Handler with an even colder expression, like the steel blade of a knife through the man's eyes, Malcolm instructed, "You… disband this gathering and return to your duties. See to it that I am not disturbed with this nonsense again."

His eyes softened momentarily as he looked over at Isla, who was peeping up at him through partly opened fingers.

_{you are safe} {safe} {safe} { safe} { safe} {go with Jethera} {go with Jethera} {go with Jethera}_

As he turned to leave, he saw the other woman move from her place at the side of the room, already approaching Isla before he even had the chance to ask it of her.

* * *

Ayatesha Haddad was not a woman that was easily unnerved, nevertheless as she stepped within the chilled and darkened atmosphere she had created in her laboratory, the shiver had little to do with the temperature. Absently she waved her hand across the space in front of the door's control panel, and then again, when the door controls failed to respond and close the door behind her. She muttered to herself softly in Arabic that held a slightly nervous tone of voice, and was about to repeat the gesture when the city obliged her presence and the door slid closed; the panel turning to red to assure her that it was also locked.

Wasting no more time on the lesser of the issues she faced, she turned her attention to her work, quickly activating the bank of computers, and calling up programs on all but one of the workstations. It had taken her almost three days, but she had reconstructed much of the purged data from Carson's earlier work, and much of her own damning research from fragments of seemingly innocuous, unconnected information. If she were going to get anywhere with helping Keller, it would be through the very realisations she had sought so hard to bury.

Settling herself onto the stool in front of the still darkened monitor, she reached to put the headset into place, before turning on the other computer.

"Ana-smi Ayatesha Layla Haddad," she spoke quickly in her native dialect of Arabic. She waited for the cursor to change to the point-of-origin symbol before rapidly typing in her alphanumeric password. As the cursor changed again, she slowed her speech and deliberately asked, "Uddahmak Hall tahni?"

The irony of her secondary password was never more apparent to her than the moment in which the computer reactivated and recalled the last file she had been working on, as it was programmed to do. _Do you have any other solution?_

She feared they were at an impasse. She feared there _was_ no solution at all, let alone another one. Switching between the keyboard and the touch screen she rapidly selected and enlarged various portions of chromosomes and gene fragments, placing them side by side on the screen, and scribbling rapid, flowing Arabic onto the note pad beside her, the process became automatic after a while and her mind wandered.

_"You aren't hearing me, Doctor," she said, almost having to run to keep up with him. "I did not say there was anything wrong with your research, or even the conclusions. Simply... you are making a leap of faith that you have no basis to make."_

_"Look," Doctor Beckett rounded on her, and she almost collided with him. "Doctor Haddad, I appreciate your input, I do, but the evidence – the only empirical results that we have – puts the variance within one degree of the human norm, and firmly within—"_

_"La!" she cut him off. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Just... would you...would you just hear me out."_

_He folded his arms, and she knew she was in for a difficult time of getting through to the Scottish genius in front of her._

_"Come with me," she said softly, "to my laboratory."_

_When his expression of inflexibility shifted to one of doubt, a spark of annoyance flashed into a small, but hot fire inside her. She had faced prejudice her entire life – for the sake of her gender, and then through her faith. She had thought him above that kind of thing, but now began to wonder. There was, however, another possibility – professional jealousy. Even if __**he**__ did not see it, their research had been running along parallel courses for some time. Perhaps that was why he did not want to listen to her. _

_Testing the water, though not without some small hint of her growing irritation, she snapped, "I have a great deal of respect for you, Doctor Beckett. What would it cost you to show me the courtesy of humouring me? I've spent a good many years investigating the genetic variance inherent in the nomadic tribes of the deep Sahara. What I have found, in no insignificant way, mirrors some of your work."_

_Beckett sighed and unfolded his arms._

_"Doctor Weir is expecting me," he said._

_"Doctor Weir is expecting you to present her with a working theory on the link between the Ancients and humans of this, and the Pegasus galaxies," she argued. "You do not yet have that."_

_"And you do?"_

_Without answering him, she flicked through a lengthy, spiral bound document she carried in her hand until she found a page toward the centre bearing images of a series of PCRs. She handed him the essay and watched as he glanced at first the page, then flicked to the title, and finally, frowning in confusion looked up to meet her eyes._

_"This is my research paper," he said._

_"Aiwa," she agreed, then with a shrug, turned and started walking back toward her lab. "Come if you want. It is your choice."_

"Perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut," she paused in making her transcript and sighed deeply.

"Would it have made a difference?"

Ayatesha jumped. She had forgotten that she had instructed the orderlies to bring Major Lorne to her laboratory, to the isolation room adjoining it. He had obviously woken from the sedation he'd been given, and now sought her out.

Not bothering to kill the monitor, she turned in her stool to face the hybrid and asked, "Would what have made a difference?"

"Keeping your mouth shut," he said, peeling himself away from the doorframe and entering the laboratory. She tilted her head to look at him. "He would have got there on his own, eventually – and we'd all still end up right back here."

She stood as he halted beside her.

"How do you know what it is I am speaking of?" she asked.

He nodded at the monitor and said, "I recognise the composition of Beckett's retrovirus... other aspects of his work – and yours."

"How?" she demanded, frowning deeply.

Lorne shrugged, and then tilted his head as if in consideration, a strange and somewhat chilling blend of human and Wraith behaviour patterns.

"I suppose because it is in _his_ mind," he mused.

"What is it like?" she asked, concern and curiosity both vying for position in the forefront of her emotions. With his head still on one side, Lorne raised a querying eyebrow, seeking clarification that she was more than happy to give. "Being able to hear Patient 4364... feel him... know what he knows?"

Lorne laughed, entirely without humour, she noted – and frowning, tipped her own head to the side, to regard him. His laughter stopped abruptly.

"Let's just stick with calling him _Michael,_ shall we?" he said harshly.

"As you wish," she agreed. "My question still stands."

"You're not afraid of me, are you?" he leaned toward her.

"I have no reason to be," she answered. "You will not harm me. You will not harm anyone here in Atlantis."

"Because they were once my _friends_?" he asked, and the mocking bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

"Because Michael sent you here with a purpose, and that purpose is best served if you do not cause harm to any here," she said.

"Ah," he purred and walked away a couple of steps, his hybridised face showing mild amusement. "So you believe I'm here as some kind of... agent; a sleeper cell."

He turned to face her again, all traces of amused kindness dropping from his expression. His gold-slit eyes hardened, becoming icy.

"Well, you would know _all_ about that," he hissed.

Without hesitation, Ayatesha closed the distance between them, and slapped him so hard, the palm of her hand stung as though it was on fire. He caught her wrist as she pulled back her hand again, staring deeply into her eyes – his expression remained unchanged.

* * *

The signs of intrusion were obvious, and Michael's anger boiled within his stomach that was already rolling with fear. How had they come here? How had they found the facility, so carefully hidden and how much had they destroyed?

With a mental command to his hybrids, and a visual wave of his hand to the few mercenary soldiers that served him and still lived, he sent them ahead to ensure that the corridors and outer laboratories were secure, before allowing himself to set foot inside the main facility. Instead he turned his steps toward a much smaller building, one that was mostly hidden by a stand of trees and coarse briars. He pushed his way through, ignoring the scratches to his hands and made his way inside.

The hum of functioning machinery calmed the tumult inside of his gut. The secondary stasis unit was undisturbed; a physical back-up of all that was housed in the main facility – hidden in plain sight.

As he turned to go; to rejoin the others he paused momentarily to stare into the almost opaque glass of a generative tank, his eyes falling on the figure held in stasis, locked in an ever dreaming world of thought, sensation and memory that were its own, and yet, at the same time where nothing but a shadow of its Original's life experiences, shared across complex telepathic neural pathways.

It was the ultimate failsafe. Nothing would prevent him from taking the galaxy and bringing his own style of peace to it... but... as he had told Beckett...

His hand hovered for a moment over the tank's activation switch, the temptation to destroy this living admission of doubt and weakness became almost overwhelming. His hand trembled as he held it poised on the edge of indecision, until... almost as if sensing the closeness of its progenitor, the clone opened its eyes. The golden beam of challenge pierced the barely translucent glass to accuse, more loudly than with words, his arrogance and foolishness. Michael's trembling ceased.

"One way or another," he promised himself softly, "I will prevail."

Withdrawing from the hidden annex of the facility and shaking of the disquiet that lingered in his psyche he allowed his rapid, purposeful steps to carry him toward the main laboratory.

The lighting was low, and the long shadows cast by the greenish yellow glow coming from the many stasis tanks that lined the room, reached like fingers across the cold concrete of the floor, as if yearning for him... waiting.

"Report," he snapped as a lieutenant came to his side.

"Only one of the stasis tanks appears to have been tampered with. We are as yet unable to discover if the heart of the facility remains intact."

"Why?" Michael turned an angry frown on the unfortunate hybrid.

"The door controls are unresponsive," the hybrid answered. "It appears as if they were damaged in an attempt to force the door to open. It is unclear as to whether the attempt was successful, or whether the locking mechanism failed when the attempt was made."

Michael pushed past him, no longer listening to his rambling explanation. The loss of one subject from the outer stasis units, while bad enough, would likely not yield much usable data, or any other kind of information, but if the Wraith had gained entry into the inner facility it could represent a setback that would mean years of struggle in an escalation of the conflict between his army and the Wraith.

Reaching the heavy, inner portal, his finger flashed across the keypad, entering his personal access code. There was a sickening moment of silence, which stretched into a lifetime, before the tickle of recognition crept into his awareness, and with an almost irritated buzz, the lock released and the door swung outward, barely an inch.

"Reset the locking codes," he instructed the lieutenant, and then he opened the unlocked door fully and stepped through.

* * *

The water fell like needles over her naked body, hot – almost too hot – but still not enough to wash away the lingering filth she always felt remained a part of her since the last months she spent at Stargate Command. The water covered her, pounding indiscriminately against the smooth flesh and the scarred... the sensitive and the numb, but even the numbness could not shield her against the memories, not since she had called them forth again in the urgency of trying to find a way to save Jennifer.

_It was flawed._

_She stared again and again at the rolling simulation, watching progression of ever changing chromosomes, watching the base pairs of the existing DNA struggle against the invading retrovirus – and watching as the resultant exobiological immune response produced an increase of the dissolution enzyme. The combination of the two was as devastating as it was dramatic. Every single fragment of gene fragment; every radical was set to 'on,' as the simulated organism reinvented itself in its own image._

_"Ayatesha? Doctor Haddad, are you there?" The warm Scottish burr held a great deal of concern, noticeable even across the communication link between the galaxies._

_"You can't use this, Carson," she told him softly, swallowing to try and keep the fear from her voice. "The immunological response alone makes it impossible. This... this __**Wraith**__ DNA is... it's dominant."_

_"You mean the Iratus DNA," he corrected._

_"No," she said. "No, I mean the Wraith DNA. The Iratus is there, yes, but—"_

_"And the Wraith is the recombinant Human-Iratus hybrid DNA," Carson said. "So if I can stabilise the action of the immunological response so that it supports the retrovirus as it suppresses the Iratus DNA then it should work, right?"_

_"In theory, but, Carson, you're not hearing me."_

_"I hear you, 'Yetesha," he assured her. "You're saying there's independent Wraith DNA – an evolution."_

_"Yes. So even if you humanise the subject," she shivered, "assuming you have one... that gene will remain."_

_"So I have to work on an agent to prevent reversion, but... the retrovirus will work."_

_"I wouldn't want to be the one to have to make it work," she breathed. A sudden, cold realisation descended on her, an understanding of why she had been asked to be a 'second pair of eyes' over Doctor Beckett's research. "Carson, I'm sorry, I have to go."_

_"Ayatesha?"_

_"Ahebik, hayati," she told him, and looked around as though she expected the door to open any moment. "I always have. Sirma ma'aasalama."_

_Before she even cut the connection, she had typed the commands to irrevocably destroy the data held on the flash drive._

For good measure, she had left the building via the power generation room, and left the flash drive tucked in the space on one of the exposed magnetic coils of the generator. She hadn't even packed. She had simply taken notebooks, emptied her bank account, driven to Atlanta and checked herself onto the next flight out of Hartsfield-Jackson International to Cairo.


	3. Act 3

Stargate Atlantis

**Revelation**

_Deliver us from evil_

Act 3

Todd sent an impression of approval to his second in command for the placement of the quarters he had assigned to the young Queen. In point of fact, he noted reflectively, there was much for which his Hive Second deserved praise. That one had discharged his duties admirably during his absence – yet Todd sensed no challenge coming from the lesser Wraith.

"Hmm," he voiced the consternation that flowed through him at his attitude toward his Hive Second. Perhaps it was disingenuous of him to name the Wraith _lesser_ simply because of his status aboard the Hive. In the next moment he put back his head and laughed: _I have been associating with humans for far too long._

His mirth, however, was short-lived. The moment he stepped within the young Queen's quarters, his status as primary male, as leader of the Hive was challenged at the core.

"How _dare_ you treat me like this?" The Queen's voice, still shrill with youth, aggravated the very fibre of his nerves. He knew she would fly his way in the following seconds and did not need to be telepathic to do so. He caught the telegraphed attack in the tension of her muscles and wrapped his large hands around her wrists even before she came within the sphere of his longer reach. He tossed her back across the room to land on the low bed and followed her, snarling.

"Be thankful, _Madam_," he said, reaching to pin her in place with the greater strength he possessed, "that you still live. Your usefulness to me and to this Hive is almost at an end. You remain as a figurehead, nothing more."

She snarled at him and struggled against his restraining hold.

"I will not accept this!" She caught his wrist a glancing blow with her sharp talons and he hissed, drawing her up from the flat of the bed to pin her against the bulkhead.

"Perhaps you would prefer death," he growled, drawing back his feeding hand, mantled to a spiderlike claw.

"You promised me safety," she cried, ceasing her struggles, and he sensed capitulation. Calming as quickly as he had angered, he released his hold on her and paced away – a clear demonstration of his contempt in the way he turned his back to her. He would never have risked such a thing with any other Queen. Her petulant sulk rolled over him as she repeated, "You promised me safety, and a Hive."

"Are you not safe?" he asked, spreading his arms and turning to face her. "Is this not a Hive?"

"Safe, yes, but as a prisoner, on _your_ terms."

"Correct," he confirmed, "on _my_ terms."

She stared at him, silent for a very long time and he felt as though she were evaluating him – considering. After more than a few moments he felt a prickling beginning at the back of his neck; a growing discomfort at her scrutiny.

"Madam," he rumbled softly, almost in query of her purpose.

"Why?" she asked at last, moving to take a seat in the Spartan quarter's lone chair.

"Why?" he echoed, uncertain of her question.

"Why do this? Why deny yourself the protection – the status – of a Hive governed by a rightful Queen?"

"You consider yourself _rightful_?" he mocked, fighting back the instinctive deference that rose unbidden in him. He growled softly.

"You consider I am not?" she countered.

He knew she was playing with him, felt her teasing at the edges of his psyche. Anger stuck its bodkin deep within his chest and he started toward her again, only halting, somewhat disarmed, when she asked softly:

"How is it that your Hive had no Queen?"

He noted the wording, but let it pass.

"Once," he answered in spite of himself…

_The rich mahogany of her hair spilled over him as she threw back her head, snarling in delight of his magnificence. He could feel it radiating from her, spilling over, bubbling through the depth of their connection to keep him buoyed – alive in her – fulfilling her needs and in turn fulfilled._

A leonine snarl banished the memory. He had been nothing but a slave, a puppet dancing to her whim; as much a prisoner as ever he had been to the Genii.

"Do not," he warned, almost soft in his deadly intent.

"But you are the son of a Noble House," she purred and he knew she had seen more than he intended. She learned quickly, this one. She would need to be watched.

"Your point?" he demanded coldly.

"Such a Wraith needs—"

"My needs are met!" he hissed. "You will not bind me with clever sophistry, Madam. Your feelings are clear. You consider me beneath contempt."

As he spoke the words he knew them to be true. He knew also that the mere wisp of a female had matured considerably in his absence.

She spread her hands and rose to her feet, taking a step his way. He sensed the meeting was at an end and frowned. When had he lost control of the audience? Unsettled, he turned and started for the door.

_))I am not as guileless as you might believe, __**my **__Commander((_

Pausing mid step, he tipped his head partly to the side. "And Madam," he said, though he would not grace the touch of her mind against his with a tacit response, he spoke in soft warning tones. "Do not think to outwait me, or to corrupt those Wraith under me. You will find that my Hive is quite loyal… to _me._"

* * *

Michael's agile mind flashed over the accruing data. His eyes moved rapidly from one side of the screen to the other, to take in the four images: compare – contrast. Data from the subject, now missing, no doubt taken by whatever Wraith faction had disturbed his facility; data from a second subject which he deemed a success; Beckett's data and the analysis of Teyla's latest sample all tumbled side by side over his display screen. He fought to control the rise of blended fear and anger at his own stupidity. How could he not have seen this?

The slight whisper of a footfall as a prelude to the touch that hesitated at the centre of his back was the first indication he had that anyone had joined him. Only one would dare such a touch and he rounded on her, his wrist meeting hers to deflect the contact.

"Teyla, I asked that you remain aboard the Hive," he said, more officiously than he had intended. He hadn't meant for her to see this laboratory; feared it would turn her from their growing understanding. Besides which, the possibility remained that the Wraith were still nearby. It was not safe.

"I knew that your work had been compromised," she said, and her obvious worry reached past his own concerns. He softened, tipped his head as he regarded her and tried to fathom her motivation for defying him to stand there at his side. "Was there much that was lost?"

"Little," he said and swallowed as he realised he had been intent on studying her face. Turning, he began to walk, steering her away from the monitor as she fell into step beside him. "A research subject that was held in stasis is missing – flawed. Unimportant."

He watched the puzzled frown appear as a shadow over Teyla's fine features and anticipated the question she framed.

"What would the Wraith want with your research?" she asked. "Unless to find a weakness they might exploit against your hybrids."

He shook his head, then voicing his objections, said, "The Wraith know nothing of my intentions for the creation of my hybrids."

"Then it makes no sense," Teyla said.

"Unless someone knowledgeable in the phylogenesis of the Wraith saw more than they should have during my interrogation." He looked away, assaulted by painful memories. "No."

"Michael," Teyla whispered, reaching up to lay a hand softly against his cheek for just a moment before she began moving away from his side toward one of the generative tanks.

It was hard not to see the fatigue in her steps; hard not to notice the way she moved, the way her balance was not as it should have been. She must feel it. He frowned at the realisation. She was trying to keep it from him.

* * *

Teyla felt Michael's concern strengthen again as she moved away from his side. She fought to keep her own worries under control as the same loose-limbed, uncomfortable sensation swept over her as she did. She almost gave voice to the fear that something was wrong, but was in herself afraid of the admission; afraid to believe that it could be something Michael had done to her.

As she neared one of the glass tanks to the side of the laboratory, she began to feel a whispering pull toward a figure silhouetted within the luminous blue-green fluid within.

She peered into the artificial environment in which the figure was suspended, trying not to allow herself to be influenced by her all too human attitudes. Still, as the figure was borne on internal currents closer to the glass front, her belly clenched in rebellion of what she saw.

The naked woman was Wraith-like enough to be clearly a hybrid, but human enough to cause Teyla to wrap her arms around herself. Wraith tendrils were attached to, and penetrated the woman's flesh. They monitored and sustained, she knew, the woman's life; providing oxygen and nourishment – and the treatments that no doubt coursed through her to facilitate Michael's design.

"Does…" she began hesitantly, without looking around at him, "…she feel?"

"No," he said softly, and moved up beside Teyla. He reached out to the control panel and activated the system, increasing the illumination in the tank, affording her a clearer view of the woman within. "One of the tubules provides sedation to alleviate any discomfort that might be caused during the retrieval of genetic material."

His words were clipped and his tone clinical, and Teyla couldn't help but wince.

"You make it sound so cold," she said, sorrowing for the woman before her.

"It is a process, Teyla," he said and sounded almost apologetic. "The one you see before you is a construct – nothing more."

"The means to an end?" she accused softly.

"Yes," he said with a sigh, and though she could sense his frustration with her lack of acceptance of the facts as she knew he saw them, a memory rose unbidden.

_The cold of the metal at her back, barely warmed by her body heat contrasted with the heat coming from the device Michael held over her rounded belly. Around them, the sound of the baby's heartbeat pulsed rapid and strong._

_She swallowed, trying to banish her fear, summon her anger and ignore the feelings of concern she could feel streaming off Michael._

_"Why are you doing this?" He did not answer, merely deactivated the scanner and walked away to replace it with the rest of the equipment nearby. Her lip trembled, and she almost faltered, almost gave in to her tears – hundreds of conflicting and confusing emotions battering her at all sides. "On the ship..." she lost sight of him then, unable to turn enough to see over the top of the examination bed on which she was restrained, but she heard him; heard the sounds his machines made as he worked. "…Kanaan said our son would serve the Cause. What did he mean by that?"_

_"You have the Gift," he answered her at last, "so does Kanaan. Have you stopped to think what that might mean for your son?"_

_She frowned, more confusion and a greater fear flooded through her, threatening a deluge, denying her any respite. She started, and whipped her head around to face Michael as he came to her side. He spoke softly now… his tone almost sweet._

_"He is genetically unique," he met her eyes then and the softness receded, he straightened and his expression hardened. "And while I've made a lot of progress with my hybrids there are still a lot of details that need to be worked out."_

_She shrank as far away as she could, but Michael softened once more. Looking into his eyes, and he into hers, she tilted her head in denial, the deepest frown on her brow, but was conflicted by the genuine lack of menace toward her son she clearly felt from him. Forcing herself to grasp the fading edge of suspicion she narrowed her eyes._

_"This child," he gestured with the turn of his head toward where her son rested in her belly, and almost smiling continued, "will help me do that."_

_He held her gaze for just a moment longer. Her anger and suspicion, and her fear for her child kept her eyes as cold and hard as the table she felt at her back and an expression of disappointment swept over Michael's face. She could not help but wonder what he had expected… that she would be happy to learn that he meant to use her son?_

_"You've taken good care of him," he said. She watched, fear turning to terror as he picked up the large vial and long-needled syringe. "You should be very proud. Even so," he said as he drew up a small amount of the fluid from the vial, "you could probably use a little help."_

_As he came to her with the syringe, cold dread fell like rock within her belly._

_"Michael, what are you doing? Please…"_

_"I need this child," he explained, soft but uncompromising. "I can't afford to let __**anything**__ happen to him."_

"No," Michael caught her arm and turned her to face him, and she saw in the pain of his gaze that he had read her thoughts. "_You_ were never that."

"Yes, Michael," she argued, then to the anguish she saw building in him conceded, "perhaps not now, but then we were." She paused for a time, allowing herself to share his anguish at that thought, reflect in her eyes which remained locked with his. "You lied to me."

"Every word I have ever spoken to you was the truth," he protested earnestly.

"Yet you did not tell me all of it," she said. "You spoke of Kanaan and I both possessing the Gift, but you did not tell me of _your _involvement in creating Nethaiye's life."

"Would it have made a difference?" he asked, but his tone spoke of foreknowledge of her answer as he concluded, "Would you have accepted it?"

A ruthless stab of guilt pierced her breast and trembling slightly she turned away; turned back to the tank, to regard the woman within. Slowly, as if she could touch the dormant creature, Teyla laid her fingertips on the glass, listening to the whispers that lay just out of reach, as a defence against Michael's disappointed acceptance of her answer.

_-I did not think so-_

The faint susurrations suddenly became a cacophony. The woman in the tank opened her eyes, mingled green and gold struck Teyla like an arrow and she jumped, startled, then backed away hurriedly as the woman raised her hand to mirror Teyla's touch, only on the inside of the glass.

Teyla felt the grounding solidity of Michael's wrist along her back, his fingers at her hip as he drew her closer – protective. She did not pull away.

"She senses your kindred DNA, that is all," he told her softly, though she detected a hint of confusion in his voice.

"Who _is_ she, Michael?" she pressed.

"I told you. She is a construct," he said, releasing her and moving to activate the monitor attached to the tank. Teyla inched closer to study the woman once more, in awful fascination, listening to the soft murmur of Michael's voice against the still extant whispers, "Spliced cells, nurtured to combine and divide until they achieved viability."

"What of her mother?" Teyla asked, glancing his way.

"She is a clone," he answered, matter of fact.

"The original was not," she insisted, somehow knowing it to be true.

Michael took a deep breath.

"The host…" he faltered, still operating the tank's systems as though to distract himself. At last on a falling tone he finished, "She did not survive."

"Host," Teyla echoed.

"The living body within which the construct-embryo gestated, yes," he answered.

"Then… I was host to Nethaiye," she said slowly.

Frowning, Michael turned to her shaking his head. "Teyla, you were and _are_ mother to The Child," he said.

"No child in nature is made from three sets of DNA," she argued. "I may be no scientist, or doctor, but I know that much."

An insidious, creeping cold, almost painful, wrapped angry talons around her spine – infecting her body from the inside out.

"Teyla, you—"

Michael broke off the moment she gave the short cry that took all of her strength to voice. She wrapped her arms around herself, beneath Michael's immediately shielding embrace, trying to focus on the sound of his voice as he called her name; demanded that she look at him, and not on the bubbling, thrashing struggle of the woman within the tank. She tried to focus on the burnished gold of his eyes and not the rising spiral of blood from the woman's body, then… as fast as the strangeness came over her, it was gone – though the cold, burning through her remained.

"…Teyla, answer me!"

_-Teyla- -Teyla- -Teyla- -Teyla- -Teyla-_

"Wraith," she breathed. "They are—"

"They are _here_!"

_-they are here- -here- -here- -here- -here-_

Michael snarled as the sound of gunfire from outside the laboratory finally penetrated within.

* * *

The subordinate scientists backed away from him as Todd swept into the laboratory. His step, as his breath, came rapidly, unsettled as he still was by the way he had allowed the young Queen to affect him. Perhaps he was mistaken to keep her aboard the Hive if he could not tame her; bend her to his will so that she would act as the figurehead that would ease, if not facilitate completely, his passage within certain elite Wraith conclaves.

"Light it," he commanded, pushing the concerns about the Queen to the back of his mind in order to focus on the creature that his Second had removed from his rival scientist's facility.

"It prefers to be unlit," one of his scientists, chief among the two, answered.

"I care little for its preference," he answered, tilting his head in question at the other Wraith, who stepped up to his side to activate the console.

As he waited, he thought it strange that he could no longer think of the turned Wraith that had created the creature on the examination bench before him as _The Abomination_, but no… not so strange. As he considered further, he realised that to do so was to make a very dangerous assumption. That one had survived torture at the behest of one of the most vicious Queens he had ever known. That one, that… _Michael_… and he decided then that the human name was somehow fitting of the turned Wraith, had, in his time, been instrumental in providing for the continued survival of Wraith. To believe that his scientific abilities had been in any way undermined by the hardships that had befallen him was not only a dangerous submission to folly – it was tantamount to suicide.

"So, Michael," he murmured to the stillness of the Hive. "Let us see what you would have of our ev—"

As he began to walk around the bank of controls the creature woke, and thrashing and twisting as though to escape the light, began to wail a high pitched note of alarm.

"Like the Feeding Beetles, Commander," the scientist informed him, needlessly, for he could hear all too well the similarity between the creature's note of alarm and the beetles with whom Wraith shared a heritage. "It lacks the capacity for language."

I doubt that," Todd said, tipping his head curiously as he regarded the creature. "Lower the light level by seventy percent."

As the light dimmed, the creature's frantic struggles subsided, and calming, it peered at him with its own curiosity clear in its Wraith-like eyes.

"Interesting," Todd purred, switching the tilt of his head to the opposite side, still speaking to the scientists. "It is almost, but not quite, the perfect recreation of Wraith form. You notice, I am certain, the residual faceting of its eyes."

The creature mirrored his movements, tilting its own head to the same attitude and degree as he had.

"Indeed, Commander," the scientist confirmed. "Most every aspect of Wraith physiology is present in the subject. We have yet to discover the extent to which—"

Todd waved the scientist to silence and leaned closer to the creature. She – for the creature was undeniably female – tipped her head once more, blinking to fix her eyes on his. A slight frown crossed her face.

_~you hear me~ ~hear me~ ~hear me~ ~hear me~ ~hear me~_

_The form is restrained-cannot move-is uncomfortable-burning hunger_

A wave of curiosity accompanied the wordless expression of the creature's condition.

"Commander," the scientist's voice held a warning tone as Todd reached for the restraint at the creature's left wrist. He did not miss that the other scientist had picked up the stun weapon from the bench. "It tends toward violence."

"_She_ tends toward instinct," he corrected, keeping his eyes on the creature as he released her, keeping their minds entwined.

She reached out, halted suddenly as if the movement startled her, then reached again, this time letting her fingertips pass softly over his cheek; his sensory pits and along the line of his slightly parted lips.

Todd held still, permitting the touch, watching the changing reflection in her eyes as the facets shifted and changed, with growing fascination.

_~yes, you understand~ ~understand~ ~understand~ ~understand~ ~understand~_

She tipped her head again, momentarily breaking the almost hypnotic visual connection, before drawing back her hand to explore her own face, following the same pattern, but including the triangular eye sockets and brow ridges that he could tell that she traced over _his_ face with her eyes.

_There is a feeling of similitude-a match that brings comfort-the familiarity makes sense, but raises still more questions-there is an essence, barely caught in the unfamiliarity of senses_

She reached for him again and ran her fingers over the shape of his brow ridges, over his temples. Her claws scraped his scalp and he growled softly at an unbidden rush of sensation. She matched the sound with a rumble of her own, drawing him closer. Her fingers tangled in his hair, bringing his face beside hers. She brushed her cheek against his…

…_draws in his scent over her sensory pits and breathes him out over her tongue-tastes him in a long, slow hiss…_

He felt the warmth beginning at the base of his spine and spreading like a languid itch, an ache that left him wanting; hungering with a need that was not entirely his. Briefly he allowed himself to revel in the sensation, losing himself in the memory of it and all that had come before.

_The host was pliant beneath him as he ploughed her, his furrow deep, his pleasure deeper in the knowledge that with it he defied his Matron._

_Her legs spread wider and the host moaned in a pleasure of her own as the semi-sentient tendrils encircled her, one slender filament penetrating to deliver the life-giving cell that he would quicken. The action was swift… barely an interruption to the rhythm of possession he undulated over this willing vessel… and he opened…_

Mindless of the strands of his own hair, still clasped in her fingers, and using the whole of his strength, he pulled away from the creature, pinning her wrist to the bench beside her head as she snapped and snarled like a rabid animal, screeching frustration.

"Secure her," he instructed hoarsely, almost stumbling as he moved away. "And be sure you collect the enzyme she produces – have it delivered to my private laboratory."

"Of course, Commander," the scientist answered, as he and his assistant were already moving to obey.

"Then confine her with one of the worshippers," Todd snarled, "we may yet have need of her."

He leaned against the control station at the side of the room, fighting back the twin ravages of frustration and need. Much as he had known that this course would challenge him, he had not anticipated the extent to which his resolve would be tested. For a brief moment he almost faltered. What need did he have to pursue this end? He had endured through countless centuries in the knowledge and satisfaction of what he had already achieved. What more could he possibly reach through this exogamous madness?

_He felt her heartbeat flutter in her chest, and snarling thrust hard against her, inside of her as she bucked her hips to meet with his, trembling with a pleasure of her own and for but a single moment, everything stopped… and then he burst inside her and she shattered for him… crying out again as all sensation sped to every nerve, every fibre that he was; consumed everything he was, or could ever hope to be… _

_Breathing deeply, he loosened the touch of his mind in hers, but did not fully leave her. In the ensuing stillness he wrapped the single word into her awareness._

_~parmhuna~ ~parmhuna~ ~parmhuna~_

…_and in her mind he knew she saw the clear image of a bright red flash in an otherwise dark sky… _

_Silence fell over the private quarters, punctuated only by the frantic gasping breaths she took in the aftermath of the shared climax that had shaken him – led him to open and reveal all of himself to her… his body, his mind… his name. _

…_he became liquid as Alicia Vega wept._

He straightened as a chuckle began bubbling in his chest. So many questions – so much rested on one delicate human.

Still writhing in uncomfortable amusement, he stepped out of the laboratory to find his second in command waiting for him.

"Does it possess what you need, Commander," the other Wraith asked.

Todd noted his Second's face was a study in concern. It made the laughter still bubbling under the surface of his skin rise up to almost overwhelm him.

"Perhaps," he managed to keep his voice even. "Why are you here, Hive Second?"

"I came to report that the Hive is in position for the Darts to begin the run to cull, and to enquire if you would wish to lead them?" his Second answered.

"No. There is no need of that," he instructed. "Take sufficient of the Elder's worshippers to attract the attention of her Hive and the notice of its Commander. Inform me when you have detected their change in course. I go to my rest."

Without waiting, Todd turned and began to make his way toward the centre of the Hive, and the one that awaited him there.

The Hive Second nodded and obediently walked away in the opposite direction.

* * *

Ayatesha jerked awake, and hurriedly looked around, trying both to get her bearings and to ensure that she was still alone. It was all instinctive, and a part of her chided herself for her paranoia, but there was a larger part of her that knew completely why she would feel such things… even after… how long had it been?

She sighed, and massaged the back of her neck, pulling her long hair to the side to do so, before covering her face with her hands. Too many memories… too much lost. How could she begin to put a life for herself together after avoiding claiming the one she already had for so long?

Of course, with the way Woolsey and that weasel of a man, Varnerin, were breathing down her neck, she may well end up right back where she started, though she supposed that running in the Pegasus Galaxy would likely be a whole lot easier than on Earth – and not necessarily any more dangerous either.

Uncovering her eyes, she reached for the wrist watch that lay beside her laptop, frowning when she noticed the time. The simulation she was running should have finished and she reached out to wake the computer, and view the results. Leaning closer, she blinked somewhat like a sleepy rabbit, focussing her eyes on the highlighted sample that was rotating on the screen.

"Transcription… cell division, but still the surrounding proteins disintegrate." She put her head in her hands supported by her elbows that straddled the laptop. "What am I missing?"

_"Staring at the screen is not going to bring you the answers, Carson," she said softly as she came up behind him. Carefully she set the two mugs she was carrying in the only space on the bench beside him. She supported herself on her free hand, which came to rest in the middle of his back as she reached past him. "When did you last rest?"_

_He straightened up as she did. It had the effect of keeping him closer to her, close enough that she could feel his heat against the front of her. She swallowed, and stepped back as he turned to face her, looking up into her tired eyes._

_"I could ask you the same thing, love," he said softly._

_She shook her head, smiling, and pulled up a second stool, lowering herself to it as she scooted it beside him._

_"I asked first," she said, and then looked past him to the display on his screen. "And I am not the one that has been struggling to analyse a variance in an essential human DNA sample."_

_"Aye… __**essentially**__human," he said. "That's just the point, isn't it?"_

_"Essentially?" she queried for clarification._

_He nodded. "There are so many variations, so many dormant and unimportant radical fragments that it's like… looking for a needle in a haystack."_

_She reached past him, took one of the mugs into her hand and passed it to him. Their fingers brushed together as he took it, and the contact stirred something in her that made her curl away like a seahorse changing course._

_"Simi'm… listen," she said, the words came out as only a whisper, and she swallowed to find her voice again. "What we already know is that the Ancients seeded life as we know it throughout the many galaxies… even after they divided between their own two factions, they still did the same. Life has that commonality – so get rid of it. Excise the sameness from your sample field, and concentrate on the variances that remain."_

_"There are still hundreds of them. I… 'Y'tesha," he answered, and her heart skipped. It had been accidental, she knew, but he had taken her name to himself and made of it something between only the two of them. She blushed, and he frowned. "Did I say something wrong?"_

_She gave a small laugh, and shook her head, "La… nothing, you… you made my name short, that is all."_

_"I'm sorry, I—"_

_"No," she stopped him far too quickly, and touched her fingers to his lips to silence him. "No, I like it."_

_He reached for her hand, took it into his own as he set down the coffee mug._

_"It's no wonder I can't find the answers I'm looking for if I can't even see something that's been right under my own nose for weeks now," he said softly, caressing her fingers between his own, before softly kissing the tips of them._

_She felt as if her own DNA were unravelling; rewriting itself as, dizzy and trembling at the realisation that the attraction she had been fighting for weeks was mutual, her other hand reached past him for one of the notebooks as a defence against submitting to something that, to her mind, still could not be possible – only… stretching brought her closer still – so close that she could feel his breath on the softness of her cheek._

_"Carson," she whispered, turning her face to him, turning into his waiting kiss._

She realised she was crying only when the first shuddering breath shook her body and drew her back to the present. The first thing she did was look at her watch again, and the tears of remembrance became strengthened in her worry. It had been so long, and still he had not returned. Not mere hours, but days had passed since Carson had gone and if he did not return soon she would _have_ to tell someone what was going on, even though he had insisted she should tell no one.

The door chimed, and she started so violently that she almost lost her balance on the edge of the chair.

"Wait," she called out, and rising swiftly, pulled on her over-dress and head covering, heedless, otherwise, of the state of herself as she hurried to answer the door.

* * *

"Begin the final approach. Prepare the Darts for launch."

The commander of the Red Queen's Hive released the bridge control to his second in command and stepped down onto the floor of the bridge. His eyes were fixed on the viewing screen and on the growing sphere of the planet they approached, a planet to which the Hive they monitored had recently paid an, albeit brief, visit.

From the distance it seemed an unremarkable place, and the long range scans he had been party to while still in communion with the Hive had suggested there was no remaining indigenous life... which was either careless on the part of whatever Wraith in whose territory the planet fell, or else made the planet all the more interesting.

"Commander," his subordinate addressed him, calling his attention away from his internal musings and back to the screen at the front of the bridge. "Sensors are detecting a Hive in orbit around the planet.

"Indeed," he purred, "I see it. Do you recognise the bio signature?"

"No, Commander," his second in command assured him. "The signature of the Hive is nowhere in our database."

The commander frowned and moved closer to examine the image of the Hive on the view screen.

"Maintain this approach vector," he instructed. "Keep the planet between this Hive and the other. Scan for bio signs and launch the Darts. I will be in the observatory. I wish to know the minute we make contact."

As he left the bridge the commander frowned. A supposedly dead planet seemed a strange place for his quarry to have visited directly following a visit to one of the most sacred places within Wraith existence. What had the commander of that Hive discovered from the Ancient Ones that had brought him to this world?

His frown deepened. The Ancient Ones had allowed the commander of the Hive that he supposed must be a rival to his Matron, and thereby, under her rule, to himself and yet... that did not hold. For if the Queen that ruled the other Hive truly were a rival to his Matron Queen, why had she not instructed him to destroy the young deposited within the nursery facility – males, yes, and therefore not a direct rival to his Queen's rule – but Noble males none the less – and regardless of his Hive Matron's opinions, that, potentially, made them _his _opponents... no matter they were not yet grown.

* * *

The weary trudge of his footsteps lightened as the door opened on the Queen's Chambers, and Alicia looked up to meet his eyes. She was smiling.

"You seem more at ease," he rumbled softly, allowing the door to drop behind him. He could not help but be warmed by the sight of her, but with that warming came the remnant of desires unfulfilled, frustrations uneased, and he faltered.

"And you seem tired," she said quietly, rising to her feet to cross the room to him. The silken fabric of the dress she wore, a deep azure river that flowed around her legs as she moved, did little to hide the rest of her, fitting tight around her all too inviting curves. Nor did it hide the all too visible blackened bruise that spread from the still livid bite at her neck.

"Have a care, my little Alicia," he breathed against her unblemished shoulder as he laid a gentle kiss upon the cream of her skin. Though she ran her hands up over the plains of his chest, she stiffened at the intimate brush of his tongue against her neck, and he withdrew, to take her hands softly into his, kiss both her palms and lead her deeper into the room. "It has been a trying day."

"All the more reason for you to let me take care of you," she said softly, and drew him to a halt as they reached the side of the bed that graced the centre of the room.

She pushed him to sit down and in spite of his warning, and her obvious timidity, all too understandable in the light of what had come to pass, (and the fight in him to control his anger began to slip), she stood astride his bended knees, unfastened his heavy coat and pushed the leather from his shoulders.

Her fingers moving over his knotted shoulders restored his equilibrium, and with a deep breath, he looked up and met the uncertainty in her eyes.

"I would never harm you, my parmhuna," he growled softly and turned his head then, his eyes last to leave her face, to kiss the inside of her right forearm, just above her wrist, before winding his own protective embrace around her and drawing her down into his lap.

"I know," she whispered, though her voice shook. "But… but I don't know if—"

"Sssh," he breathed against her lips, barely any space away from enfolding her in his kiss. "It need not be said."

"Todd," she sighed the human sounds against his lips, and melted against him as he took hers beneath his own, and coaxing with the lingering press of them against the warmth of her mouth, dipped his hungry tongue within to taste the nectar of their closeness.

Kisses had yielded to caresses, and caresses to the nuzzling of her kitten-like presence within the strength of his arms – childlike in her trust – surrendering completely to the need that he could feel almost as a physical force streaming from her to be surrounded in the fortress of his embrace.

"I will not sleep, unless it is in your arms," she had said, and yet as blessed rest came to her she rolled away, leaving him wakeful and restless.

How could he touch her without bringing fear? How could he – Wraith, as the one that had hurt her – hope to banish these new demons and show her what _could_ be, and not what was – _what had been_ – he corrected himself. There was too much at stake now to take the risk.

_~by your guidance, parmhuna~_

He brushed the edge of a mental caress around her sleeping mind, and stilled, his easy breath catching as he realised the edge of the trembling breath she gave in response was the sound of her tears. She was still asleep, and yet she wept.

"Alicia," he said softly, and moving closer he reached to draw her into his arms, to spoon against her and give her that security at her back. Before he could, she turned and burrowed against his chest, as if freezing. "I have you, my parmhuna… you are safe."

* * *

"You sent for me, my Queen."

Malcolm lowered himself carefully to one knee at the foot of the dais. Every sense was screaming to him of danger, and yet he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Yes, the Queen had dismissed her guards, and was attended only by her junior handmaidens – but this was not completely unknown. What need had she of guards within the heart of her own Hive?

"I hear… disturbing rumours, my Second," she purred. He heard it then. The edge of anger beneath her apparent calm, too late to effect a retreat without causing greater affront than he, evidently, already had.

"My Queen?" he pitched his voice low, and looking up, tilted his head in query, and tensed, prepared for anything as she stood and descended the stairs. When he did not move to offer her his hand, she paused, mid-way down and narrowed her eyes.

"I would think, Second, that you would be all too ready to show your loyalty to me, and attend my comfort; my needs," she stretched out a booted foot toward the next step down, balanced… waiting, "given the content of such… idle gossip."

Taking a breath, realising the depth to which his trouble extended, he carefully stretched out his arm, hand open for hers – his left.

There came no warning of her intent, merely the sudden flash of metal – the searing pain of blades across his hand from the base of his index finger, deep across his palm and across his wrist. He recoiled as fast as his reflexes would allow, but she reached the foot of the steps as if carried by levitation, to take his balance from him with a flick of her still outstretched foot, and then to send him flying to collide hard with the bulkhead with a solid kick to the side of him.

"Traitor!" she screamed at him, and around them the doors hissed shut. "Turncoat!"

All deference to the insane creature she had become vanished with the rush of air from his lungs as he collided with the wall, slid to its base, and rolled to avoid the Queen as she followed him, her usually grey-green face almost purple with anger.

"You… on whom my favour has fallen _time_ and again," she hissed, as he sprang to his feet, circling now to avoid her, mouse to her catlike stalk. "How could you _excuse_ such a mortal insult?"

She leaped at him, bladed hands leading and, spilling a trail of blood around the throne room, Malcolm parried – turned aside the deadly strikes, spinning away again to avoid remaining within reach.

"You protect her!" she screeched. "You _heal_ her… you prevent her _suffering_ as I have decreed she will!"

It came clear to him then, the source of the whispers that fell into the Queen's ear; the Queen's mind. The Hive Commander sought to discredit him with lies, to play on the Queen's jealousy, and on the instability of her untended Zenith.

"Calm yourself."

_{calm yourself} {calm} {calm} {calm} {calm} {calm}_

He pushed both voice and mind on her in an attempt to reach past the burning that suddenly filled his awareness.

_=leave my mind= =my mind= =mind= =mind= =mind=_

She roared at him, the sound echoing around the chamber like some big cat's cry. The tone of the cry was specific, reaching within the maleness of his being and awakening instinct to action. In her anger she had lost what little control she had on her body's need and it had subsumed her. Where _was_ her commander? _Why_ did he persist in the obstinatacy of not taking what was his to take.

Woken, the instinctive beast inside of him threatened to overwhelm. He sprang at the Queen as she leaped at him, the two clashing in mid-air to fall writhing to the ground. Her blades raked his should to the middle of his chest, the thrust of her talons took pain from his thigh, even as he struggled to turn her beneath him.

"Release me!" she screamed, her mind pushing inarticulately against him, no sense, no meaning, as he squeezed his arm against her throat, ignoring the blades, then her claws as the blades fell free of her fingers, that slashed at his forearm, and the exquisite agony of the fight she made for him swallowed him whole.

He had her… almost pinned, almost quiescent beneath him when her elbow came back, the sharp point of it catching just beneath his ribs. He gasped and released the pressure on her throat. She flexed her back and threw him down – away, and spinning on her left hand straddled him, ripping at the leather covering him, her feeding hand back behind her head, mantled.

His own clawed feeding hand flew upward first, the tips of his talons brushed against her tattooed flesh.

"My Queen!"

He froze, as did the Queen, barely a breath between his feeding hand and her chest, her own still raised to strike… a terrifying tableau… indrawn breath held fast within heaving breast.

She growled softly as she released the breath, a long, low sound that vibrated through the entire chamber… like the chains of some long dead spectre, moaning and haunting.

Finally she rose almost gracefully to her feet, leaving him supine, his heart beating painfully in his chest.

"Handmaiden?" the Queen tipped her head to regard the interloper that had entered the chamber unbidden from behind the throne in her private chambers.

Malcolm rose slowly, his own breath audible in the tense silence, to find Hanna standing beside the throne. The expression on her face told him everything else he needed to know.

* * *

"Ayatesha," Keller's voice rasped hoarsely as she spoke. "What… what's the—"

Ayatesha reached for her shoulder as the other woman's strength failed and she sank back against the pillows. It was a gentle and compassionate touch she laid on her patient's shoulder… meant to be comforting.

"You do not need to speak, Jennifer," she said softly. "Just rest."

Keller shook her head though and said, "Please, I want to know. What treatment regime?"

She sighed softly, and fixing a smile on her face that she hoped the other woman would understand as teasing, answered, "What is it they say about Doctors making the worst of patients?" She was glad when Keller managed a slight chuckle.

"True," Keller said as the chuckle faded. "Tell me."

"All right," she said, and pulled up a stool to sit down and speak with her. "Right now, we are treating you with a modified version of the serum that Carson created to prevent reversion after the administration of the humanising retrovirus. In addition to that you are receiving a low dose of the cell stabilising compound you created for him, and a broad spectrum antibiotic to stave off infection from the degrading cells."

"Is it working?" Keller asked.

"You tell me?" she countered. "How do you feel?"

"Like hell," Jennifer confessed, with a weak, apologetic smile.

"Then I would say that… for the time being, we have achieved _some_ success in keeping you stable," she said, not without irony, and brushed her fingertips against Keller's cheek. "I cannot promise you how long this will last."

Keller sighed. "It's all right," she said. "It's not your fault."

"It is not yours either, Jennifer. No matter what you might think," she leaned closer to the woman as she spoke. "Your genetic predisposition—"

"This wouldn't have happened if I'd not slept with Todd," Keller interrupted. "I was… Ayatesha, was I _insane_ or what? I saw – I knew there was genetic variance in my DNA, one I saw in—"

"Broken eggs, Jennifer," Ayatesha ran her fingers through Keller's hair, trying to soothe the other woman's agitation. At the same time she fought to keep her own expression neutral as she added, "There is nothing we can do about the past… only find a way to live in the present."

"Why does it feel like…" Jennifer started, looking at her with concern, "…feel like there's so much more to that?"

_Though it had been well over a decade, near enough two, since she had set foot inside the walls of her father's desert compound, the atmosphere of it pressed around her much as it had when she was still a child, and she began to wonder at the wisdom of returning._

_Taking a breath, she tried to banish the foolish notion. Whatever had passed between them he was still her father, and she his flesh and blood. Even if she had to throw herself at his feet and beg for his forgiveness, renounce the decadent West, he would protect her – of that she was certain._

_Crossing the desert out from Alexandria, under the hospitable protection of a Bedouin family, she'd felt more secure than she had in a long time and confident that she had shaken her pursuers. In hindsight, it was foolish of her to have run straight to Egypt… of course they would find her there. Almost as soon as she had landed in Cairo she felt their presence – ever watchful, waiting for the chance to strike. She had made sure she remained in public places where any such attempt would be noticed. The last thing, certainly, that the United States would want was a diplomatic incident over an insignificant scientist… but she was not above starting one – if she had to._

_Exhausted, she followed her father's seneschal – for want of a better word that was what her self-styled desert prince of a father's personal assistant truly was – toward the main hall of the house, ready to debase herself before her uncompromising patriarch._

_"Abi, mit'assif…Min fadlak—"_

_Half way across the hall toward his low divan, with cooling breezes billowing gauzy fabric inward between carved pillars, the shadows moved and took shape. Ayatesha froze._

_"Abi…?" she looked first one way, and then the other at the men, clearly military from their desert fatigues stepped into the room. Her fear mounted when her father didn't answer; refused to spare her a single word, "Father…?"_

_Taking his cue from her manner of address, her father answered, "It has been a long time, my girl."_

_Stepping carefully, like a gazelle encircled by hyenas, she began to back up. The ice in her father's tone was a clear confirmation that she __**had**__ been wrong to expect sanctuary in her family home. She turned then, to start toward the door, but two more soldiers stepped into her path._

_The gardens then – she would lose herself in them, find a way out as she had as a girl, feeling little more than a girl again in her heart as the pieces of her world shattered around her. The path was blocked even before she finished turning._

_"Doctor Haddad," the voice came from behind her, a Midwestern drawl, lazy… bored. "Let's not engage in schoolyard games, Ma'am."_

_"Go to hell," she turned on him and spat on the floor in his path. "I won't come with you."_

_"I'm afraid you don't have a choice," he answered, and nodded to the men she could already feel behind her. "See, you left before you'd finished your work, and… it's very important to us that that happens."_

_Hands closed around her arms, and she snatched herself away, struggling – refusing to be taken without a fight, a string of the most colourful invectives flowing from her lips in a mix of Arabic and English, until in shock she cried out as the stinging backhand snapped her head back. She tasted blood as her teeth split her lip. She spat it in his face._

_"You can drag me out of here, but you cannot make me—"_

_Again she stopped, the double click of the handgun slide being drawn back and coming to rest loud against the twittering of her father's caged songbirds._

_"Ma'am," the soldier repeated, softly and with menace._

_"I cannot work if you shoot me," she challenged, not denying her fear, but using it to strengthen the hate she threw between them, from her eyes to his. "And the only way I am leaving here is if you drag me away."_

_"That's always an option," he agreed, but she noticed he did not lower the gun. "Gentlemen."_

_The hands closed around her arms again, ignoring her struggles, and beginning to drag her toward the door. She clawed at them… bit down hard on one and was rewarded with another, rough slap… fabric tore and her anger dissolved into frantic fear as she grabbed the edge of a nearby trellis, her fingernails scraping the wood, breaking and sending shooting pains along her arms._

_"Abi, please…!" she cried out, but he started to turn away. "Don't let them… I beg of you. ABI!"_

Ayatesha took a deep breath, swallowed, and opened her eyes again, to try and smile at Jennifer.

"Perhaps I will tell you one day," she answered, "But I am tiring you now, and—"

"Please," Keller pressed. "I know you had a thing with Carson once. I know it's prying, just… anything other than talking about me."

Ayatesha sighed. "I loved Carson with all my heart," she said after a lingering silence.

"Loved?" Jennifer whispered.

"Yes."

"No."

"IsmaHiili?" she asked, "Excuse me?"

"You still do."

"La," she breathed as she pulled away. "I do not know how any more."

* * *

Todd stood immobile, surveying the devastation in the village, and the remaining humans who cowered at his feet. He flicked a casual glance at his second… then looked back toward the terrified humans.

"I thought I instructed just _enough_ damage to attract attention," he rumbled with a hint of amusement.

"They resisted," the Hive Second answered dryly.

"Of course they did."

"Commander, are you—"

"—certain that this is where I will meet with the witless commander who rules this _miserable_ clan?" Todd finished the second's sentence. "Yes."

As he spoke he noticed a movement among the worshippers, a woman among them frowned and covered her mouth with her hand. Todd's mind, fast as a whip crushed the thought of shocked support for her Lord-Commander from her psyche and kicking a nearby male, dressed in the colours of a Handler ordered, "Bring her to me!"

The Handler hesitated, and the woman broke, making for cover until two drones stepped into her path. She slid to a halt, already pumping her legs to reverse her direction, but the Handler had found his wits, and, Todd noted through his boiling fury, his feet, and clasped the woman from behind, lifting her from the ground, struggling and wheedling as she was, to carry her to him.

"Lord Commander."

The Handler lowered her to her feet and stepped back as Todd's hand flashed forward to catch the woman closer before she could bolt.

"Tell me, _woman,_" he growled, "you find my assessment of your Overlord lacking?" Without warning he spun her in his arms, one wrapped around the top of her chest, one buried deep within her tangled brown hair. Leaning closer he hissed dangerously close to her ear, "Why not tell them _all_ what you think of my opinion of the Queenless Bastard you serve!"

Irritating him still further, she remained silent, and though he could feel the tremor though her body, and knew that her inability to speak was born of fear, he could not allow the fact mitigate that she did not answer him as he had commanded.

"Answer me!" he roared, and the woman cried out. It required only a simple shift of his hands, but he silenced her in a heartbeat, twisting the woman's head so swiftly to the side that the sound of splintering bone sounded even over the echo of her dying cry and letting go, dropped her, without regard, at his feet.

The Handler moved forward, no doubt to clear away her corpse, but Todd waved him away.

"Leave her," he snapped, then turned his gaze out over the others of the gathered worshippers. "Are there any others among you that believe my assessment is wrong?"

To the smallest of babes in arms, no one moved.

Growling softly, Todd turned his attention to his second in command, and noted that the other Wraith stepped up quickly to attend him.

"I will await the arrival of the Elder Hive," he told him quietly, adding, "alone. You are to return to the Hive. If I do not return—"

"Commander," the Second tried to interrupt, but Todd held up a hand to forestall his objection.

"If I do not return," he repeated, "Command well, comfort Alicia, and do as you will with the Queen."

"It will be as you command," the Second said solemnly, bowing low before he turned to go.

"Hive Second," Todd recalled him.

"Commander?"

"You are also to prepare a suite of quarters in the lower station," Todd said. "No Handler or attendants, simply prepare a comfortable dwelling there and ask nothing of this command. All will be made clear, in time."

* * *

Locked in a fight far too personal to allow for the use of hand or staff stunner, Michael moved faster than ever, ignoring his own breathlessness, to compensate for Teyla's rapidly faltering rhythm. She fought at his back and he could tell, without seeing, that she was tiring quickly. They were surrounded by Wraith – outnumbered, as were all his hybrids. The hybrids would hold, he knew. They would endure until heavier forces could be brought to bear in defence against the Wraith, but Teyla… He had to get her out now.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the glint of light on metal, descending in an arch toward Teyla's undefended side, and even as he sent the urgent mental summons back along his neural path to his Hive, he turned and wrapped his arm around Teyla's waist, lifting her bodily from the path of the descending blade. Even knowing it would leave her off balance when he set her down, it was better than the inevitable alternative.

Surprising him, in spite of her fatigue, she rolled with the momentum when he released her, and paused to give a brief nod of acknowledgement before spinning into action against the unrelenting Wraith.

Worried that she had set herself apart from him with the move she made, Michael fought his way back to her side, snatching up the blade of a fallen drone, and with it slicing the body armour of a second as he pressed forward, unwilling to allow her to face the Wraith alone.

His chest ached with the effort of maintaining the punishing pace, blocking to the left, then high to the right, giving ground, defending. He hissed as the strike of a drone penetrated his guard, and caught a glancing blow against the top of his shoulder. He lashed out with the opposite hand, driven upward and flat against the drone's mask, and the bone shattered… splintered deep within the soft, pulpy vulnerability between the warrior's sensory pits. A single cry of alarm was all it gave before it fell away, lifeless. There was another to take its place, and worse, the path of their battle had brought them to where the drones' unit leaders fought against a small pocket of hybrids, and noticing, two of the cloned-Wraith turned their way.

"Teyla," he yelled over the sound of the fight. "Break! Go!"

She was too entrenched to obey, and Michael growled, spinning to deliver a high, hard kick to the face of one of the cloned-Wraith, driving him backwards, semi stunned. Michael had to buy them time.

Hard on the heels of the desperate thought, he became aware of the soft, but building whine of the incoming Dart. He did not allow relief to slow his defences, however, merely glanced up, barely a flick of his eyes, to judge the trajectory of the incoming Dart, and by his actions turned them to a more advantageous formation.

The Dart's beam activated barely twenty feet from where they fought, sweeping toward them so quickly there was no way that he could have anticipated the events that followed.

Just as his forward vision was filled with the wavering disturbance in the air of the Dart's dematerialiser beam, his peripheral vision registered movement, a blur of shining black flight, and Teyla's shrill cry, before everything went dark.

* * *

Teyla felt as though she had been crushed, and wondered for a moment as her feet left the uneven ground, whether the pilot of the low flying Dart had misjudged completely and had clipped her with the craft's wing. The breath exploded from her lungs even before she hit the ground. She moaned, and lay immobile - stunned.

Trembling, she forced herself to motion, rolling to her side, away from the dark shape of the Wraith, already on his knees, and moving toward her, reaching for her, to pull her back toward him.

She slapped away his hands, and arched her back to try and gain leverage to find her feet again, but the Wraith had anticipated such a move and tried to straddle her, to pin her in place.

She waited as long as she dared, then brought her thigh up sharply, as she rolled toward him. It wasn't quite her knee that connected with his groin, but the force was enough that he roared, and fell away enough for her to scramble backwards… put some distance between them.

Sharp rocks cut her hands and skinned the small of her back as she hauled herself over the rough terrain, sobbing for breath, knowing she had only seconds before the Wraith would be on her again, others too, as Michael's hybrid lieutenants unwittingly drew attention to her by calling for her defence.

Even with a miracle, there would be no way the hybrids would reach her in time.

* * *

Pulling up as soon as the confirming trill of the materialiser system confirmed the presence of matter patterns in the storage chamber, the Dart pilot began to power away, back toward the Hive. His orders were clear – get them out before the other Darts made their strafing runs against the intruding Wraith.

The hybrids on the ground were acceptable losses, but Teyla and He-that-led-them _must_ be clear.

The sharp, persistent beep of the proximity sensors, confirming the presence of the remedial forces that would take out the Wraith, drew his attention back to the panel in front of him, and panic seized the hybrid pilot's heart.

Where there should have been two lighted channels on the materialiser readout, there shone only a single light.

The Dart's pilot rolled his craft, and looped around to descend once more into the planet's atmosphere, this time chasing the path of the other Darts.

* * *

As the Wraith closed in, she fought from one knee, ignoring the ache from the fall and the blood she could feel running from the scrape on her back. She struggled to try and get to her feet.

Teyla sensed an attack coming in from the left and rolled in time to leave the Wraith drone's blade slicing the air harmlessly, and rolling, found her feet at last. Instinct replaced conscious thought, and stilling completely, she tipped her head, listening for the inner whispers of thought from the gathering Wraith, then took a step back, to where she had seen the remnants of equipments casings – lengths of pipe and sturdy, long wooden studs, meaning to arm herself, but a trio of drones closed in on that side, forcing her path way.

Clawed hands reached for her, as the faced-Wraith drew near again. She stepped closer, not away, and lashed out with flattened hand against his wrist, pushing his reaching hand away, then kicked high and hard, taking him in the belly, forcing him back, only to follow, clenched fist leading and her own clawed fingers striking after.

It was desperate. The attack was weaker than it should have been, and she was tired, nearing breaking point.

The whine of incoming Darts was only somewhat comforting. It was as much fearful as it was a sound of hope. Perhaps the Darts were piloted by Michael's hybrids and would retrieve her as they were meant to before, or perhaps they belonged to the Wraith, and came only to deliver destruction; death.

She did not have time to wonder.

Her scream at the sudden explosion of heat and light around her, as the first of the incoming Darts made a strafing run, filled her lungs with dust. The debris in the air made it impossible to see, and relying on sound alone to anticipate a place of safety, she headed to the left, remembering the cover of undergrowth nearby.

The dark shape of the faced-Wraith rose up in her path. The leather of his coat was smoking, and she could see through the partially clearing dust that, in places, his grey-green skin was exposed and oozing blood along an injured arm. He snarled at her, as she slid to a halt, mindful of the increased whine of the approaching Darts. She had to pass the Wraith, she had no choice. The Darts would be on them in seconds.

As if realising the same danger, the Wraith flew at her, and caught her with a glancing blow to the side of her head. She stumbled to one knee, but forced herself up, grabbing what remained of the Wraith's lapel with one hand to pull him closer and striking with the forearm of her other against his face. She hoped to drive him back out of her path; achieve the cover she so sorely needed.

He snarled and grabbed her attacking arm in a vice-like grasp. He pulled her closer and tried to turn them both. He meant to use her as a shield. She did the only thing she could. She made herself limp in his arms.

The sudden dead weight of her pulled him off balance, and sent the two of them toppling toward the ground. She landed hard, but he landed last, and on top of her as new founts of heat and light tore up the earth around them.

The Wraith cried out in angry pain, and the overpowering scent of burned leather and charred flesh was nauseating, but the Wraith survived, and there slumped her doom. Stunned from the fall, and from the explosions from the Dart's blaster fire, she could only watch as the mortally injured Wraith forced himself up over her. She tried to brace him away, locked her elbow and pressed her hand against his throat, but his reach was longer, and his feeding hand curled in anticipation of healing.

She felt his hunger for survival… she burned with his need as he thrust his mind into hers… felt the bite of his feeding maw against her chest, and the doubling of her heart rate as his enzyme flooded her body, and could only surrender as behind the sound of his snarling, she heard the whine of yet another Dart.

* * *

He shook uncontrollably as he tried, a second time, to tie the strip of cloth around his hand, stumbled and fell to, rather than sat upon, the top of his bed, but he welcomed the pain… the reminder of his folly.

He should have fed. He knew that… and he would. But not yet. Not until all other avenue of healing had been followed – until his own self-imposed rituals had been satisfied, until…

"Let me do that." Cool hands alighted on his burning skin… a cold, wet cloth soothed the sting in the palm of his hand.

Sighing, he closed his eyes. "I was such a fool," he whispered…

_"Isla…"_

_"Hush, my Lord – lie back, all will be well," her voice was light and soft. Melodic after the shrill, penetrating cries of his Matron-Queen's fulfilment..._

_The enormity of it descended over him, pure terror through his blood, the very fibre of his being surrounded by the weight of responsibility._

_Consort-Commander to the Wraith Matron-Queen… Wraith Primogenitor._

"The only folly is that you will not feed, Lord," Jethera answered as she carefully unfastened the remains of his tattered coat. He heard her wince as she uncovered his chest and tried to bend his head to see, but she caught his chin against the heel of her hand and pushed his head back until he understood, and lay himself back against the bed.

"Lie still… it is deep," she told him. "If you will not feed—"

"I cannot," he told her, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not now… not while all lies in madness."

"It is madness not because of you," she told him, and lowered a wet cloth over the slashes on his chest. He hissed as the antiseptic she had soaked it in penetrated the wounds. "But through ou—"

"Have a care, Jethera," he managed to form the words through the thickness in his throat.

"You know that it's true," she countered him, refusing to be silenced.

He opened his eyes then, to look at her, into the brightness of hers, trying to read the silence he felt in her, but her mind was closed to him. The truth was he was just too tired… too hurt.

* * *

A second explosion tipped the deck of the Hive beneath his feet, and spilled the Red Queen's commander against the portal's framework at the entrance to the bridge.

"What happened?" he demanded. "Only moments ago you reported to me that all was well and our troops on the ground would be victorious against the Abomination's forces."

"And that we would gain entry to the laboratory hidden on this world, yes," his second in command conceded to him the truth. "However, Commander, I regret – I erred."

"Or perhaps the Abomination decided we were close enough," the commander waved away his Second's unspoken apology and, finding his balance once more, he gained the bridge.

As he stepped up to the control station at the centre of the bridge, he considered, with no small surprise, the events as they had unfolded: the rumours of the Abomination's death in the destruction of the First Elder's Hive were untrue.

The news of his death had spread among the Hives of the Noble Conclave, much as fleas among unclean prey, causing much the same itch. With the Abomination vanquished, the need for alliance among the Wraith dissipated like illusion before the Returned, and the skirmishes that had begun again were herald to another civil war. How long would it be, he wondered, before the few remaining Queens realised their folly and sought to once more shelter beneath the spread claws of their Noble or semi-noble betters – and which of _those_ Queens would claim her place – rightful or otherwise – as Primary? Had he not been in the midst of battle, he would have been amused at the irony of the fact that they were probably safer in the grip of Civil War, and not because it meant the absence of the Abomination.

"Return fire," he ordered, slipping his fingers into the controls vacated by his Second, who stepped aside to allow him to command. "Target the Hive's ventral weapons' ports."

"And their Darts?" the Wraith at the weapons' control station asked.

"Launch a wing to intercept them."

He nodded and was gratified that his bridge crew were as attentive to their duties as they were, but even as they fired on the Abomination's Hive, the deck bucked and rocked as Darts penetrated their defensive perimeter of fire, once their weapons were turned against the Hive.

"They are targeting the core of our Hive," a Wraith beside him reported.

"I am aware of that," he snapped. He did not need to hear the words. He felt the repeated hail of fire and superheated matter as it exploded against the central hull of his Hive. His proprietary connection with the ship's sentience twisted in agony as a volley of weapons' fire from the Abomination's Hive cut through the outer hull and breached the inner, dangerously close to the approach to the Queen's chambers. At the same time, an explosion of fire rained over the starboard side of the bridge.

Maintaining the coolness of rational thought, he closed his eyes and began to pull the ship around, fighting against the instability caused by the hull breach at the very heart of the Hive. Wraith invectives flowed from his mind – Abomination he might be, but this despoiled Wraith knew exactly how to harm a Hive; how to control his enemy.

_(+damn you+)_

He sent the thought blindly outward, not knowing or caring if it would be heard, seeking now only to cover their withdrawal; to guard the Hive and its Queen.

"Recall the Darts, and standby forward portside weapons' array," he growled at his Second, who moved to take the place of the Wraith at the weapons' control station. The other Wraith fell back, half of his head a twisted mass of scorched flesh, and still bloody tissue from the injury caused in the destruction wrought on the bridge as control stations overloaded in their users' faces. "Fire as soon as we are turned… I will not wait. We must withdraw."

The Hive turned sluggishly, and the assault of wings of Darts came at her again and again. As soon as he was able he set the massive craft to forward motion, listening for the melodic, repeating tones of the forward array even as he called the subspace rift into being, and relaxed as the unequal forces pulled the Hive inward – out of danger.

* * *

Michael looked away from the falling characters on the display beside the examination bed in the laboratory, and reached out a hand to adjust the blanket that covered the loose blue shift that Teyla wore; watching as she slept, brushing the lightest of touches over the shadow of a bruise that peeked out from beneath the neckline of the shift.

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, uncomfortable still, with how close he had come to losing her and yet knowing that neither she, nor he, would be truly at ease were he to insist more forcefully that she remain aboard the Hive. It was not who she was, to sit in the shadows while others acted. He admired her strength and her determination – her ability – to take that from her would be to take away a large part of what made her his match and that was something he would never do.

The latest incident, however, coupled with his already existing concerns, had shaken him, and had done so badly. It would only take one slip, one distraction, one... moment of carelessness on his part. He closed his eyes and breathed out, calming his agitation. He could not apportion blame for this, not even on himself.

_The darkness resolved into the dimly lit warmth of the Hive's Dart Bay, but the comfort was momentary. Michael's awareness was immediately settled on the snarling presence of a Wraith aboard his Hive. The sound was foreign – alien amid the sound of running feet, the alarm of his hybrids. It took him a further moment to get his bearings, but as he did, and turned his head, the reason for their alarm, and the chilling reality of the cause drove all reason from his mind._

_The Wraith knelt astride Teyla – over her even as she struggled to hold him back. Michael could already see it was futile, as the Wraith's reach far outdistanced Teyla's, and snarling flattened his hand still further against her sternum._

_Had rationality maintained even a fragile hold on Michael's psyche, he would have worried little, but driven by instinct, and roaring in outrage, as a commander in protection of his Queen, he flew across the several feet between them to drag the Wraith away from Teyla._

_The Wraith's convulsions began as Michael closed his hands around his neck. He lifted the Wraith bodily, arms straining against the jerking, twisting struggle the Wraith gave, though not against him, but against the action of the Hoffan protein now coursing destructively through his system. Michael snarled again, anger and contempt driving him to pitch the Wraith over the side of the walkway into the dark oblivion of the Dart Bay. _

_He turned in time to see Teyla turn to the side, retching; gasping for air – her body trembling and in shock . She needed treatment, and that thought alone banished instinct in favour of cold rationality. He picked her up in a single motion, and tightened his arms around her out of instinct of a different kind as she clung to him, trying to say his name._

It was important to focus now on what was, not what had been, and on ensuring her continued safety and on her health, he reminded himself, as a new variation among the falling Wraith characters on the screen drew his attention; an increase in the number of antibodies in her blood. A reaction to the presence of the Wraith enzyme – why?

An immunological reaction to the presence of Wraith enzyme was neither a factor in human physiology, nor in that of his hybrids – even those they carried the Hoffan protein, besides, she had already possessed a high concentration of Wraith enzyme in her body that had not triggered the same biological response.

_Then... I was host to Nethaiye..._

"A different genetic signature in the enzyme..." He looked up from the screen, his musing becoming breathless as the words tumbled from his lips. "The immunology is not human, it's Wraith."

He turned his head to glance at the screen once more, searching for a cue that would deny the truth unfolding in his mind before the realisation could hit him with the full, combined weight of all the ages.

"Scion," he breathed and then looked, almost in awe, on the awakening woman. "Teyla!"

"Michael, what's wrong?"

Teyla's voice drew him back from the edge of the singularity, the fatalism of which had been staring him down, closing in around him with the blackness and cold of a vacuum. He swallowed, and shook his head.

"It is nothing," he told her, putting a smile onto his face, and softening his expression; allowing her to slip her hand into his. "You are awake. All is well now."

"You looked as though something dreadful had happened," she told him. "I can feel you're unsettled. Is it me? Is it what happened?"

"You are... unwell because of a reaction to the Wraith enzyme in your body," he told her, every word the truth, and yet, as she had accused him before, not quite the _whole_ of the truth. "And because you have inhaled much dust."

She nodded. "My lungs _are_ sore," she confessed.

"The irritation will pass," he said, freeing his hand from hers, and turning to the nearby equipment to pick up an empty syringe.

"Michael, what are you doing? Please..." she asked, and when he turned back, he could see her expression held fear.

"I need to be sure there will be no further ill effects," he answered softly, but his tone was uncompromising. "I will not let _anything_happen to you."

She swallowed, but nodded her assent.

"I was... foolish," she told him softly, barely wincing as he inserted the needle into the vein in her arm. Glancing up from what he was doing, he tilted his head in query. "I should have stayed aboard the Hive, like you asked. Just... I wanted—"

"You do not need to explain," he told her, watching carefully as the rich redness of her blood filled the vial attached to the needle. He reached for a swab and pressed it to her skin as he withdrew it, gently folding her arm to hold the folded square of linen in place. "What matters is that you are safe. You are not a prisoner here, Teyla, and if, at times, it seems that my instructions confine you, it is only out of concern." He turned to set the sample aside, and to pick up the small jar of paste that he had used on her injuries before. "I have made a promise to you. I mean to keep it."

He set down the healing compound, feeling slightly awkward as he felt her eyes on him almost like a physical touch. He looked away from her, attempting to regain his composure. So much change in so little time, his head swam in it.

"I do understand," she said, drawing his attention back to her. She smiled at him as their eyes met.

Nodding, he held out his forearm, helping her to sit up as she clasped her hand around it, pressing the warmed leather to his skin. For a moment then he remained still, supporting her, waiting to be sure he could sense no dizziness, nothing untoward.

"I am all right," she told him as if she understood his purpose and his unspoken question... as if she _knew_ that he was treating her like glass. "I will go back to my quarters and rest."

"I'll have someone escort you," he told her.

"There's no need," she insisted, slipping down from the top of the bed. As she stood, one of her legs buckled slightly, and she reached out to catch herself on his shoulder. He slipped his arms around her, drawing her securely closer and looking down into her upturned face.

"Someone _will_ escort you," he repeated softly as he held her.

* * *

The slight scuff of boots on dusty ground announced the presence of the Elder Hive's Commander as the Wraith set foot upon the appointed killing field. Todd stared across the distance between them, his eyes narrowed, his body tense; a burning that travelled from deeper still than the most visceral emotion fuelling his body, keeping him silent and still.

"I must admit, Scientist," the Hive Commander said languidly, "you pick an interesting choice of battle ground." He nodded then toward the woman still lying on the ground between them. "You also make an interesting choice of lure."

Todd said nothing, merely reached slowly behind his left shoulder for the hilt of the massive blade sheathed at his back. He lowered the blade, equally as slowly, in an arc before him until he had straightened his arm, with the sword an extension of it, its tip barely touching the ground.

"Mine was better, don't you think?" The Hive Commander taunted.

Todd stiffened, feeling the weight of the sword seemingly increase in his arms. He took a breath, a deep breath to gather himself. As the young Queen reminded him, he was the son of a Noble House, and as such would he comport himself even if the poor excuse for Wraith that stood before him would disgrace either very existence.

"Nothing to say?" the Hive Commander's taunts continued for a moment longer before taking on the edge of a threat. "No one invited you to provide Her with the science she needed to elevate Her idle musings to insane obsession."

Todd was well beyond caring about the justification of the Hive Commander's actions, barely heard the words, and with another breath spoke, barely above a whisper, but his voice carried anyway.

"I am—"

"Oh, _spare_ me your pomp and ritual," the Hive Commander spat, drowning out Todd's voice, defacing the utterance of his name. Todd continued anyway.

"—a son of the Second House of the Ancient Five," he growled words on a tongue grown unused to proclaiming such a noble lineage.

"What you _are_ is a disgrace to all Wraith," the Hive Commander cut him off. "Imagine… elevating that tainted beast – worse than prey – to the place— to help it hold the privilege of Queen's Consort to—"

"Perhaps if _you_ were able to satisfy your Queen, to _see_ to your duties," Todd's composure snapped at last, and at his damning words he watched as the Hive Commander snatched his own sword into an already trembling hand. Todd knew he had touched a raw nerve. Before he could press his point, however, the Hive Commander scraped his sharpened talons down Todd's last bastion of control.

"I am _more_ than able to satisfy," he hissed, "just ask your little plaything."

Roaring all the pain and rage and every ounce of insult to his honour, and to Alicia's, Todd raised his blade and launched himself against the Hive Commander. His vision flashed red, then white in the heat of his anger, slashing a wide arc in front of him as he spun inward toward the other Wraith.

Blades clashed as the Hive Commander met the upward arch with a defensive downward deflection, and turned then to deliver a strong riposte, which Todd deflected with the sweeping tails of his armoured coat.

A rain of sparks scattered new stars into an overcast sky as, with snarl upon bitter, angry snarl the two Wraith began a deadly fight that went far beyond mere honour and revenge.


	4. Act 4

Stargate Atlantis

**Revelation**

_Deliver us from evil_

**Act 4**

Todd grunted as the Elder Hive commander's studded wrist guard caught the underside of his chin, growling as he flew backwards, to land heavily and immediately roll aside. The commander's blade sliced the air where he had been and hit the ground, releasing sparks to bite at his cheek as the metal struck flint-bearing stone.

He thrust upward with his own blade, forcing the commander to back up, or risk being impaled on its sharpness.

Shifting his weight back toward his shoulders a little, Todd flipped himself to his feet and following his own momentum, lunged at the commander. He swept his sword from one side to the other, keeping the other Wraith on the defensive, forcing the commander to give ground.

The commander, snarled and lashed out with his off-hand as he stepped up to meet the next of Todd's earnest attacks. Todd hissed as the other Wraith's hidden blade, a short, narrow tongue of double edged steel, slashed across his arm, slicing through the leather sleeve and cutting into the flesh beneath.

He should have expected the underhand tactics and shifted his hands on the hilt of his own sword to angle the pommel to deflect the commander's repeat attempt, this time to penetrate his side. Then he lashed out, hard, circling the sword around his head to make a rapid downward attack, parried at first, before the tip of the second cross finally breached the commander's guard, and cut a thin, bloody line across the other Wraith's breast.

The commander roared, anger flashing in his eyes as he lunged at Todd. Todd ducked, bending backward almost parallel to the ground to keep him beneath the sword strike. Twisting his body just as he felt his back would give way under the strain, Todd sidestepped inside the Wraith commander's reach, to grab his still outstretched arm, but the commander was ready for him, and wrapped a leg around Todd's ankle, pulling him backwards, to spill them both to the ground.

They fell hard, turning as they did, and the commander completed the roll to bring him over Todd; driving the air from his lungs. Before Todd could recover, the commander drove the barbed cross guard of his blade deep into his shoulder.

Todd's answering snarl of pain echoed off the nearby buildings, and he twisted beneath the bulkier Wraith, swallowing the added pain as the barbs tore free of his shoulder. Half blinded by the bite of it, Todd thrust upward with an open hand, catching the commander under his chin, pushing his head back enough that he could clasp the other Wraith's throat in his talons.

* * *

Barely breathing, Ayatesha carefully manipulated the instruments, her eyes fixed to the small screen of the microscope into which she peered so intently. She always preferred to work closer, even when computer screens were available. It gave her a sense of immediacy with the samples, a greater understanding. She felt more in tune that way.

She consulted her notes, then reached in to excise the cell fragments she needed and began the work of splicing it into the nucleus of the retrovirus cell.

"Doctor Haddad," Varnerin's voice came from behind her.

She held up a finger of her left hand briefly, before saying, "Wait please."

"No," he told her. "It's long past time that you and I resumed our conversation without the presence of your little… lap dog."

"If that is why you are here," she snapped without looking up from the microscope, "then I suggest you leave. I have far too much to do to waste time on such—"

His fingers closed around her arm and he spun her away from the microscope to pin her to the bench. On an unbidden instinct, she clawed her free hand and with it grasped his throat, her fingers squeezing, restricting his breath, until struggling he slapped hard against her wrist, and backed away, gasping for breath.

"Do not touch me," she warned, pitching her voice low to hide the tremor in it. "I am busy… trying to save a life. What is it _you _do?" She did nothing to hide the contempt in her voice. Men such as him had set her on her current path, and her hatred of them ran deep. What they had done to her had taken _everything_ from her. "When you came here they expected one that would bring solace, as Kate had done. You have brought nothing but pain."

"Be careful, Doctor," he said, the calm in his voice belying the shocked expression still present on his face. "Your claws are showing."

She snorted loudly, refusing to rise to the bait in his accusations.

"It is only the truth," she said, and stripping off the gloves that covered her hands, crossed the laboratory toward the sink. "No one will talk to you. Ronon left. Teyla is gone."

"Her death has nothing to do with my actions," he protested. "She made her own—"

"She ran from Atlantis when you challenged her about her son." She ran her shaking hands through the water from the faucet, then cupped the cool liquid in her hands and splashed her face. Drying it quickly, she turned around to face the surprise in his eyes. "Yes, Professor, I have made it my business to learn of all the recent history of this place and it seems to me that the stain of her blood mars _your_ fingers as much as it does—"

"The Wraith?" Varnerin interrupted, his tone holding cold amusement. "Let's talk about the Wraith, shall we?"

"What of them?" she asked, tucking her fingers under her arms as she folded them across her chest.

"Well, isn't that what your research involves?" he asked mildly, "so that you can find a way to reverse what's happening to Keller."

"In lay terms, I suppose you could put it that way," she conceded, though it was far in a way more complicated than just that.

"So what have you discovered? What's wrong with her?" he shrugged and began to walk closer, watching her almost as carefully as she was watching him. "How can we anticipate what her needs might be – now and in the future, once you've cured her – you can… cure her, can't you?"

"Doctor Keller is—"

"Oh, and I almost forgot to ask," he came to a halt in front of her. "How are _you_ feeling, lately?"

She frowned at him, her eyes narrowing, uncertain whether she should answer or simply challenge him again. The hairs on the back of her neck stood as though to the touch of a hand as warning pressed through her.

"I—" she said, faltering, confused.

"Well, since the end of your treatment," he said faux-kindly. "Your… cancer?"

"In remission," she said quickly, tightening her right hand into a fist and added quickly, "Insha'Allah."

"Glad to hear it," he said softly, meeting her eyes. She saw none of the concern that the tone in his voice suggested.

"What do you _want_?" she hissed at him, her teeth clenched against the memory his expression freed.

_Her head was pounding, her chest ached from sobbing, her throat raw from her screams. Where her wrists were caught against the restraints they seeped blood and plasma, but she bowed her head, weeping through the respite, her words tumbling in a breathy torrent._

_"What do you want-what… do you want…? I told you… told you it is not possible. It will not work, it is too complex… I cannot. I c-annot…!"_

_She descended into silence, punctuated only by her breathy sobs that came in counterpoint to the bleep of the heart monitor, slowing now – though she knew only temporarily._

_"One more time, Doctor Haddad," the dispassionate voice of her interrogator encouraged. "Let's focus… transcription of the key causal chromosomes between the host and the exobiological DNA…?"_

_Even the question quickened her heartbeat. "Is not possible!" she cried._

_"How do we __**make**__ it possible?"_

_"You—" she broke off as the uniformed technician got up from his seat to change the canister in the shunt of her IV. "Please, no… no, I—"_

_The door flew open with a hiss of releasing pressure and she shrank back in her chair, pulling against the restraints, tearing the skin of her arm as the team's leader came toward her. There was fury written on his face, as he snapped at the technician._

_"Get her up. Get her out of that chair!"_

_"Sir," the interrogator answered, "that isn't wise. If she—"_

_She cried out as the leader ripped the IV from her arm, and started tearing at monitor leads. He grasped her hair and pulled her head back to force her to look into his eyes._

_"Time's up, Doctor," he growled._

_"Sir!" the interrogator tried to restrain the leader, but was kept away as the man turned and grabbed the front of his uniform._

_"There's been an accident," the leader snapped angrily. "Yung's been killed; I lost two of my men; the subject's dead."_

_"What?" the interrogator exclaimed. "How?"_

_The leader just shook his head and letting go of the interrogator, turned back to face her._

_"She's all we've got," he said, the menace in his voice chilled the fever from her body. "And we're running out of time. Now get her out of that chair!"_

_She turned a fearful, pleading expression the interrogator's way, and sobbed aloud as he nodded to the technician still at her side, moving past the leader to work on her left as the technician released the restraints on her right._

_Her legs buckled as they pulled her to her feet, and the room swam as the pounding in her head reached a climactic crescendo in the symphony of torture still flowing through her blood._

_"Wait," she gasped, "please."_

_Her needs seemed to anger the leader, and he snatched her from the arms of the others, grasping the back of her neck to half drag, half carry her stumbling form to the wide trough at the side of the room, and push her head deep into the icy water which filled it. She struggled, completely ineffectually, and clawed weakly at his wrist, and gasped for air, coughing as he pulled her up, and turned her to face him. _

_"You better make the smart choice, Doctor, and start cooperating, or so help me, I'll make this," he gestured toward the chair in the middle of the room, "and what your daddy did to you when you were young, seem like a holiday picnic."_

_"I cannot… give," she wheezed, terrified but refusing to back down, "what is not possible even for God."_

_Murder flashed through his narrowed eyes, and she retched as his fist drove into her belly. She would have fallen to her knees had he not caught the back of her scrubs in his other hand and hauled her upright. She struggled for air, the edges of her vision closing in and darkening as he began to haul her away._

_"Get her something to neutralise this shit in her system," he ordered the interrogator as he pulled her toward the door. "I need her to be able to think straight."_

"The same as you," Varnerin answered. "A cure for Doctor Keller – a way to… neutralise whatever Wraith influence… lingers after the experiment."

"No," she argued.

"No?" he frowned, taking a step back as she pushed past him.

"You are lying," she accused. "This is not about Doctor Keller. Ever since you came to Atlantis you have had your own agenda. Everyone knows it. You have a purpose here beyond… anything that might be your remit from the IOA, and I am telling you now – you will _not_ use me to further it."

"So sure of yourself," he growled softly, stepping closer again.

"I _know_ you – men of your kind," she twisted her face into an ugly visage of disgust and contempt. "The destination all important, little care for those you must tread upon along the way. Perhaps I should go to Richard Woolsey, tell him of this little _meeting_… see what happens. I do not think he would be pleased to hear of it, no matter _what_ he might think of me personally."

His hand flashed forward and grasped the knot of her hair, shrouded by the head covering she wore, and pulled back her head as he leaned toward her, not stopping until his face was inches from her own.

"Don't be a fool, Ayatesha," he growled, his breath rank. "I could break you."

"I. Do. Not. Think so," she whispered into his face. "_Real_ men… have tried, and with greater leverage." She forced herself to keep her head upright, her eyes locked with his, against the instinct to tilt it even slightly to the side. "And I did not bow to them either."

"You're making a mistake," he told her, but he did let go of the light grasp he had on her hair and stepped back.

"Get out," she hissed, rearranging her dress and head covering. "Get. Out."

Immobile, held in place by sheer force of will and trembling with the effort of it she watched as he paced backwards several steps, watching her as he retreated. Finally he turned and, with hurried steps, left her laboratory.

Once he was out of sight, she followed his path across the room to the panel beside the door, praying with every ounce of her being that the door would respond, close and lock without the oft-necessary repeated attempts as she waved her hand in front of the panel.

She sobbed with relief and turned her back on it as the door slid closed, then leaned on it, sinking down to her haunches to cover her head with her arms as she let go of her fear and misery and pain.

* * *

Unbalanced, and obviously caught off guard, the Hive commander tried to pull away, taking one hand from the hilt of his blade, to claw at Todd's wrist, letting his sword fall to the side, as he fought to free himself.

Sensing an opening and maintaining a crushing hold on the commander's windpipe Todd shifted his, now one-handed, grasp on his own sword and growling, swung it up toward the commander's back.

The jarring clash of metal on metal as the commander raised his sword, angled diagonally across his back to parry the strike, passed down Todd's already injured arm, numbing it. It happened faster than Todd would have thought possible and added the fuel of frustration to the burning fire of his anger. Gathering the strength of it, and snarling wordlessly, he launched the commander away across the clearing.

It was a brief respite, but it afforded him the chance to climb to his feet and centre himself. He began circling the commander, as the other Wraith moved to keep him in sight. It was a tense stand off, and Todd knew it wouldn't last. He raised his blade, and sidestepped round and around, tipping his head from one side to the other, waiting for the sign that would show him the other was to attack, or retreat enough to encourage his own move against the commander.

The moment came and he rushed the commander as the other Wraith charged toward him, their greatswords already moving to strike. Steel grated against steel high, low then high again, fist left then right, more quickly, as another burst of fury expanded within him.

_~…Denied recognition as was fitting…~_

The commander's sword swung wildly and Todd jumped back, leaned away, then spinning back full circle, came on again, his sword driving toward the commander's throat. The other Wraith grinned mirthlessly, and raised the hilt of his sword to angle his own blade down, thrusting into the path of Todd's assay. The resulting collision sent a universe of sparks to spiral into the already waning day.

_~…assault to the very heart of Wraith…~_

Blood ran in rivulets from Todd's injured shoulder, the ache spreading with it, down over his chest, along his arm. At the wrist of his other hand, blood pooled and then sprayed the air crimson with each move he made. Undeterred, he came on once more, harrying his quarry with a series of quick, light thrusts, never serious enough for the need to be turned aside, yet licking ceaselessly at the commander's defences, determined to break his resolve.

_~…honour laid waste…~_

The commander's concentration finally slipped and as he mistimed his parry, Todd flicked the tip of his blade upward through the opening that remained, carving a slice from the lip of the commander's sensory pit upward on his cheek.

The commander's agony and outrage sang into the red misted evening.

* * *

Out of sorts, Teyla felt hot and sticky, and the discomfort that had been gathering low in her back, or deep in her belly, she couldn't decide which, became less of an inconvenience, and more of a genuine worry.

She paced her quarters, feeling caged and restless, and one glace at the viewing port told her that they were still in hyperspace, so there would be little opportunity to find fresh, outside air. She craved it… and hard on the heels of that thought she realised that she was thirsty – and hungry – terribly hungry.

She remembered, long ago now, so long that it seemed a lifetime away, a time when Aiden Ford had secretly contaminated the food she and her companions ate with Wraith enzyme, and the gnawing hunger she had felt in the days following her return to Atlantis afterwards. Michael had said that her body had reacted badly to the enzyme of the Wraith that had tried to feed on her, perhaps this, too, was a side effect of her body's struggle against the reaction.

Behind her, Nethaiye grumbled as he woke, and fitting a smile onto her face, she turned and crossed the space to her son's crib.

"Nethaiye," she said his name softly, and he reached for her, wanting to be held. She could feel his infant yearning for the security of her arms. She chuckled softly. "All right, let us take a walk, hmm? Explore this new home of our—"

As she leaned her weight to the left, reaching down to bring Nethaiye to her arms, the looseness in her hip increased without warning, her leg gave way beneath her and she pitched to the floor with a stifled cry. A second later, Nethaiye's hiccupping cries filled the room.

In spite of the pain lingering in her hip, as though she had overextended her muscles in sparring, she reached over and lifted him from the crib, to cradle him close… tears of her own beginning to spill from her eyes.

"Sssh," she bounced her son in her arms, trying to soothe him, and through calming her child, calm herself. Softly she whispered, "It is all right, all is well."

"Madam?"

She had no concept of how long she had been sitting beside Nethaiye's crib, holding him close, and had not heard the arrival of her companion, but looked up as the other woman spoke.

"Is everything all right?" Midani asked, a frown of concern on her face. "I thought you might be hungry and brought food."

"Yes," she answered on an outward breath. "I am fine, and… quite hu—" She stopped with a frown. Hunger still gnawed at her belly, but with it, now that there was food for her to have, a dull nausea began to creep over her, making though thought of eating unappealing.

"Teyla, are you certain you are well," Midani asked. The woman set down the tray and crossed the room to where Teyla realised she must look terribly awkward, sitting as she was.

"I am fine," she repeated, and climbed carefully to her feet, reaching out to squeeze Midani's arm. "Though not quite yet hungry."

"Oh," Midani sounded disappointed at first, and then as though she would panic if she refused to eat. "He said you would be. He said that you would need food and—"

"And I do," Teyla assured her, "but first I should like to take a walk. Perhaps you could… stay and watch Nethaiye for me. I will not be long."

Midani brightened considerably. "I will keep the food for when you return," she said.

"Yes," Teyla answered on another outward sigh, and handed Nethaiye to the other woman. Quite familiar with her, Nethaiye fussed only slightly, and settled at once, when Teyla brushed his cheek with a gentle kiss, thinking warmly of the time when she would return to cradle him again.

* * *

The satisfaction of the minor victory was short lived. As the commander's cry faded, the massive Wraith leaped toward Todd again and he was forced to give ground, to angle his sword awkwardly to deflect the commander's furious riposte.

"Weak!" the commander accused, turning his blade to strike from above Todd's injured shoulder.

Todd met the attack and countered its descent toward him, circling his blade around the incoming, deadly slice. The commander's blade slid inexorably toward his sword's forté. Hilts clashed and locked together, and Todd rallied all his strength behind the effort to hold back the point of the commander's upwardly curving, and sharpened quillion.

"You sully yourself," the commander accused, "with your associations."

Todd growled, pushing harder against the locked blades, his arms straining, increasing the flow of blood from the cut on his arm to run like rain down over the front of the commander's coat and pepper the narrow strip ground between their feet with red, mercurial balls.

"The girl was soft," the commander's voice was sarcastic, suggestive, hungry, "pliant… the perfect sheath."

Todd's answering roar redoubled his strength. He suddenly dipped his elbow beneath the locked hilts of the swords, pulling the vying blades across his own left shoulder. Drawing the commander closer, he drove his forehead into the other Wraith's descending face, once and then again, until he heard the satisfying crunch of splintering bone.

The commander snarled and pulled back, blade hilts unlocked and Todd stood for barely a moment, breathless with the ferocity of his anger, before moving in again. Dark steel flashed in the gathering gloom, as wordless now, the fight resumed. No tense circling, no tentative, testing strikes, blades clashed, spark spittle flying to light the dismal evening.

To the left, blades hissed through treachery and deceit, to the right through honour and tradition, but between them, Todd knew, the ringing of steel on companion steel was nothing but the voice of death, singing out her desire for the taste of freedom at the hands of the victor.

The commander's sword swung upward and across, Todd parried swinging his blade to deflect the strike off to his left, but the commander stepped in, and before Todd could fully realise the error he had made, the ram of the commander's leg collided with the back of his right knee, and it buckled forward. He stumbled and the commander reversed the direction of his sword-blade, and grasping the ricasso just below the hilt of the sword, and with a downward thrust, forced the point of his sword deep into Todd's shoulder and twisted the blade.

* * *

"You have something on your mind. Speak," Malcolm ordered as Jethera's fingers worked to unfasten the braids in his hair.

"I question your wisdom in making the threat to Merihanna as you did," Jethera answered. "You know that he is using her to create trouble at every turn, and now you have all but told him that—"

"I have told him what he expects me to tell him, no more and no less," Malcolm purred softly, leaning into the action of her fingers as she massaged his scalp. "It is he that placed the woman between us."

He sighed, tired, and allowed Jethera to soothe the physical aches that still remained from his altercation with the Queen. He pulled the shirt off over his head as she finished unfastening it. The cool of his quarters, in counterpoint to the warmth of the human woman's hands smoothing the oils over the skin of his back, and his shoulders, and over his shoulders onto the front of his chest soon freed his mind to wander in thought and strings of memory.

_Years… centuries… millennia… mere children they were before the trembling universe – yet older than the oldest atoms of creation… a spark drawn down from the fabric of the cosmos – forty-six dying stars for the perfection of the First Kin. Eleven there were – eleven pairs… perfect symmetry in their mirrored flesh, a life of yearning, each for the other. Parmhunii. Inseparable. They grew in wonderment of each other, bathing in the light of their unity, and their number swelled, became thirty-three, and forty-four and fifty-five… and their light swelled as age began to pass. But one… named for the fifth star had no mirror nor any match but herself. Her mind quickened as the bodies of the Eleven…grew loud and reached out to them until one heard._

_::why do you serve?:: _

"I am but the light of the stars decanted into flesh to be a mirror to the one that is my self," Malcolm murmured softly. He sighed and reached up to close his long fingered hands around Jethera's wrists as she gently smoothed the palms and then the heels of her hands over the tender new flesh of his healing chest.

"Hmm?" she asked him softly. Her voice and breath came from beside his ear.

"A myth," he answered in soft melancholy. "A youngling's tale – nothing more."

Hardly yet drawn back to the full awareness of his mind, he lifted one of Jethera's hands from his chest and brought it to his lips, to nip softly at the flesh at the inside of her wrist.

"Don't," she whispered, and then moaned softly as his lips were long in lifting away. "Please."

With a puzzled tilt of his head he released her, and turned in his seat to look at her, quirking a brow ridge in query.

"What Wraith commands such loyalty, Jethera?" he asked softly, "Who patrons you?"

"None but our Queen. I—" she swallowed and moved away to fetch the long silken shirt in which he slept. When her back was to him, she finished, "I have no patron."

"Then… why do you refuse me?" he asked. There was no anger in his tone, and truly he felt none, only reawakened curiosity about the woman.

"I am beneath a geas," she told him, helping him to don the shirt, that wrapped around and fastened at one shoulder, before she reached for the ties at the waist of his leather pants. "To live without another's touch or else descend to this… _madness_ of feeding and the long, slow death of our kind."

"From whom did you receive this interdiction?" he asked, frowning still further, but she shook her head, and stood from removing the pants from his legs.

"None you would know," she told him. "It was a long time ago."

"And yet you survive," he narrowed his eyes, stepping toward her as she backed away, "have avoided being fed upon, rewarded…" he lowered his voice to barely above a whispered growl, "…taken."

"I am careful," she whimpered, raising a hand to fend off his forward motion.

He shook his head, not believing for one moment that was the only way she had kept herself from the three main dangers for a worshipper aboard a Wraith Hive.

"You are more than careful, or lucky," he answered, "for one not born of this Hive." He softened then, for no reason other than lenience that was his to grant and in a Hive gone mad with tension and threat, such peace was a rare gift. "But come," he turned and held out his hand. "You have nothing to fear from me today."

Her hand was hesitant as she slipped it into his. He walked slowly, with her at his side, across his quarters toward the large observation port that graced the wall opposite his bed.

"May I ask you something, Hive Second?" she finally spoke as he released her hand, and watched her walk across to lean against the window, staring into the multicoloured streaks of subspace. She glanced his way as he lowered himself to the top of his bed. He nodded once, granting her permission to ask.

"Why do you persist in denying the Hive the commander it needs?" she asked softly and Malcolm sighed. Why indeed? Wraith that were his subordinates were beginning to question why he had not acted. Their Hive commander was lost to madness, ignominy and a hunger for power that rightly belonged to the Queen. Granted the Queen herself was not entirely stable, but that was temporary, and in no small part a reflection of Her commander's ineptitude and dereliction to duty and abrogation of responsibility. As they sped now toward a meeting between the Five, where was the Hive's commander?

_"Speak and speak quickly," Malcolm snapped at the third in command as the two walked into an adjacent room within the lower station, scattering worshippers who took one look at the lightning flashing in the eyes of their Hive Second and fled. "I do not take kindly to manipulation."_

_"Then act, Hive Second," the Third came straight to the point. "Should we arrive at Conclave with our Queen thus, and our Hive in disarray, they will put Her down as surely as a diseased beast. They may still – should they discover what She has done."_

_"The Hive Commander will return soon," he said smoothly. "It is only a matter of time before—"_

_He did not believe the words even as he spoke them, and was somewhat relieved when the Third interrupted, preventing him from uttering his lie._

_"That one is incapable of relieving Her Zenith, his dalliance with the worshipper woman has removed all desire from him to do so."_

_"Then we must remind him—"_

_"There __**is**__ no reminding him," the Third pressed. "Hive Second, the time for loyalty to that one is long since passed. With his complicity the Queen fails in Her duty to protect her Hive – actively endangers it with this heretical notion of progress – of evolution?"_

_"Have a care, Hive Third," he said._

_"Oh, spare me!" the Third countered. "You believe as I do. It is madness."_

_A strong and sweeping cold descended over Malcolm in a sudden rush, his limbs ached, his mind trembled and his heart ceased beating, stealing his breath._

_::remove him::_

_{My Queen} {my Queen} {my Queen}_

_"What was that?" the Hive Third looked first left and then right, as if searching for the source of the almost tangible presence of the Matron Queen._

_"Illusion, Hive Third," he kept his voice mild as he approached the other Wraith, "As you said… there is great tension in the Hive."_

_{there is great tension in this Hive} {in this Hive} {Hive} {Hive} {Hive}_

_The other Wraith realised, too late, Malcolm's intent, and by far the weaker of the two of them, could put up no defence worthy of his life. With speed befitting his ancient heritage, Malcolm reached out and snapped the Hive Third's neck._

When he did not answer her, Jethera spoke, still softly, her suggestion tentative, "If nothing else, as Hive Commander you would be able to lift the burden on Isla."

"That burden is already gone," he answered.

"Recall her to your side then," Jethera pressed.

"The Queen is still and will still be our Queen. Forgiveness is _Hers_ to give, not mine," he said, and he surprised himself at the bitterness he heard in his own voice.

"But with the right voices of guidance, She—"

"Enough!" he roared suddenly, feeling a stab of deep pain and resentment for all that Isla had suffered through the Hive Commander's refusal to meet his responsibilities. But for his arrogance, the Hive would not have been destroyed… and all that had gone along with it; the Queen could have been brought to see the folly of her ways, _all _could have been set to rights. "This matter is at an end!"

"Forgive me, Hive Second," Jethera said quickly, and lowered her gaze as was befitting for a worshipper before her lord and master and not whatever… _thing_ she was. "I speak of matters I do not understand."

"No," he whispered, crossing the room to take her hands in his, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. Touching her mind, as open as she was in that moment, and as deeply wounded as his own mind was – left bleeding for want of the comfort of his companion, he realised the unfathomable truth. "You understand far better than you think."

_{I know you} {know you} {know you} {know} {know}_

_

* * *

_

The agony was blinding, and for a too-long moment Todd faltered… his buckled knee connected with the ground as the commander drove him down.

On the threshold of defeat his thoughts turned to the journey his life had been: a ceaseless struggle through millennia of scheme and counter-scheme… of opposing servitude and freedom; of mindless similitude and uncomfortable, exciting change.

The exodus of his people streamed from his mind, countless Hives, like swarming insects lit the vast dark of space – ever expanding, widening the distance between themselves, rippling outwards, a tide in the universe; infants at the breast of a neglectful wet-nurse.

Who could have foreseen where that tide would lead them? Few; tremendous few enlightened minds pierced the veil and for their thoughts were tested, sanctioned… murdered by the very kin they sought to save… the once mighty swarm now floated; lifeless, rotting on the stagnant scum of the turgid river; passage of time.

…and he – on his knees before the spectre of that construct – disempowered, ineffectual… lost…

_The red star burst, a nova destroying those worlds close by, a bright flash in the sky of a darkening world… pain was shared and passed into the memory of the one that squeezed to life from between thighs, risen like mountains against the sky. The cry of the birthing infant was lost in the dying moan of its host._

…but she had seen. Her mind had been filled with the bright red flash of the universal irony – that every ending is but a new beginning.

_~Alicia~ ~Alicia~ ~Alicia~ ~Alicia~ ~Alicia~_

His sword clattered against the hardened ground as he fell forward, to catch himself on bloodied hands.

_~parmhuna~ ~parmhuna~ ~parmhuna~ ~parmhuna~ ~parmhuna~_

The sound was like a bell to him, ringing out the approach of the time when he would lay down the grasp he held on the strands of Wraith future; pass their care into more capable hands than his.

Approaching… but not yet now…

His roar was that of a wounded beast, a great, red dragon rising up on tattered wings. He grasped the hilt of his sword and swung it up one-handed, gathering momentum in the swing to bring the full force of it down across the commander's wrist, slicing into sinew and flesh, and glancing off bone as the commander snatched himself away, cradling the broken remains of his arm, and snarling in a torment of his own as he stumbled back – away.

Todd leaned forward again, breathless with pain, and reached over to grasp the commander's blade, heedless of the edge that sliced his palm as he grasped the metal, still warmed from the friction of their fight, and mustering what remained of his resolve, crying out the agony of it, he drew the sword out from its fleshy sheath.

* * *

"How much longer are you gonnae keep me in this cell," Carson snapped as Michael stepped into the holding room, "Before you tell me what you want from me?"

"As you are so fond of reminding me," Michael said softly, "_you_ came to _me_ for help."

"Aye," Carson got up from where he was sitting, and took a step in Michael's direction, "and so far that help has been completely unforthcoming."

"Have a care, Doctor," Michael growled, and stepped closer to Carson. "Try not to forget yourself."

"Look," he said, "Michael—"

"Tell me again the progression of Doctor Keller's symptoms," Michael interrupted.

"There _were_ no symptoms. That's what I keep trying to tell you." Carson ran his fingers through his hair and paced away from Michael, trying to keep the frustration from his voice, and knowing that he had already failed. "She just… collapsed in her quarters, and since then has been in and out of total systemic shock."

"Clinical presentation then, Doctor," Michael rumbled the words, pacing closer still, and forcing Carson to back up to keep distance between them. Carson hadn't seen Michael this agitated for almost as long as he could remember. It sent his mind running along avenues of thought, trying to fit all of the pieces together. "If you want my help, you need to tell me what I need to know."

"Michael, what _is_ this, I've already been through the clinical presentation with you… three times. What more can I tell you that I haven't already?"

"Clinical. Presentation," Michael repeated, annunciating each word as if it were a deadly disease.

"Unexplained and maintained levels of Wraith enzyme from initial presentation through to present, escalating nausea, intermittent anaemia, most lately high concentration of peptide hormones, resulting in physical collapse, and then total systemic collapse, where moments of consciousness alternate between delirium and lucidity."

Beckett fell silent, watching Michael's face, trying to read what was going through his mind.

"Immunological reaction?" Michael queried after a long moment of silence.

"Nothing I wouldn't have expected," Carson answered, then frowning, wondering at the origin of Michael's question asked, "Why?"

Michael merely shook his head. "Come with me," he said and turned to walk away.

Carson caught his leather clad arm, knowing he shouldn't have, doubting it would get him any closer to the answers he wanted to hear, but all the same, refusing to be ignored.

"Now just a minute, Michael," he said. "You can't ask me a question like that and then not answer me when I want to know why. If it's relevant, if it can get us even one step closer to finding a way to help Jennifer—"

He stopped as Michael looked down at his hand, snatched the contact away, backing up a step, as Michael looked on, a furious expression on his face. Carson watched as, breathing deeply, the anger turned to concern and then to worry and then he blinked, and banished all expression from his face.

"An… associate of mine was recently attacked by a cloned-Wraith that tried to feed on her," Michael said, matter of fact. "She has since suffered an immunological reaction to the presence of…" He trailed off then, frowning and flicked his eyes away, before looking back at Beckett, and Carson realised that the hesitation came from a realisation that he could not continue without revealing more than he had intended. "… Yes, well, suffice to say she had an immunological reaction to the presence of enzymes from divergent Wraith genomes."

Carson let his suspicions speak a name hesitantly, "Teyla. You're talking about Teyla," he said.

The frown reappeared on Michael's face. "There is work to do," he snapped. "And little time for your idle speculations."

Without a further word, he turned and left the holding cell, and Carson knew he was expected to follow… but did so with a lighter heart and maybe the hint of a smile on his face.

* * *

"Open it," Ayatesha snapped at the marine guarding the isolation cage in the brig. She waited while the all too noisy force-field lowered slat by horizontal slat and the door slid back, her eyes fixed on the figure inside.

Lorne stood immobile.

They reported he hadn't moved since, in anger, she had ordered him returned to confinement and for her part she hadn't been able to silence the nagging of her conscience, nor the subtext of her confused emotions.

Only when the rasp and click that signalled the full opening of the holding cell's door opening, did Lorne move… slowly… raising his head to find her eyes with his.

_He knows why I'm here._

"Leave us, and close the door behind you." she ordered as the marine stepped up beside her, for her protection, but she waved him away when he didn't move. "I will not ask again."

He moved away then, stepped outside the door, and closed it as she had ordered. She knew it would make the man uncomfortable, but cared little that what she asked was outside of protocol. In her experience, she'd learned that protocol was a convenience that was shaken off when it did not suit the purpose of the desired end.

The silence in the brig was absolute as she and Lorne simply stared at each other, before she sighed softly, a long, slow breath and stepped inside his cell, a clear signal… symbolic.

"I'm forgiven then," he said at last, though still he did not move.

"I was… out of line," she said softly. "I offer my apology."

"Hmm," he snorted, and began to circle her with slow, measured steps. "First sign of your weakness… Doctor."

"Not weakness," she answered, still staring straight ahead, "honesty… and there is strength in that… Major."

He continued to circle her, and she remained immobile, controlling her breathing, though her heart raced so fast in her chest she felt almost as though she were fibrillating.

"Tell me," he said coming to a halt behind her, and leaning down to speak the words softly against her fabric-covered ear, continued, "If I were to step outside of this cell…" He moved his hand over her shoulder, down over her arm to the cuff of her dress. "…to the control panel; closed the door…" His fingers moved between the fabric and what skin remained sensitive at her wrist. "…would you feel any more _confined_ than you already do?"

Suddenly he grasped her wrist, spun her round to face him and in the same moment grabbed the sleeve of the arm he held and pulled up the fabric to expose the scars on her skin. She tried to pull away, but he held her too strongly.

"Where is Michael keeping Doctor Beckett?" she demanded, ignoring his question, and trying to ignore the livid red and white scars Lorne had exposed.

Playing her at her own game, he let go of her wrist, but only for long enough to grasp the fabric of her dress and in a single motion rip the sleeve from wrist to shoulder, taking her arm in his hands again, and turning it to expose the surgical scar on her inner bicep. Already the skin around the scar was discoloured – mottled, the spreading capillaries dark.

"Does helping Doctor Keller make you feel… vindicated?" he asked, shaking her arm as if to hold it out to her attention - shaking _her_. "Restore your faith in _humanity_?"

"Evan, stop it!" she said, her voice ardent; afraid. She pushed at him, and he let her go so suddenly that she stumbled backwards. "You don't know what you're—"

"Don't I?" he asked, holding up the slim silver cylinder he had taken from her pocket.

"Please…"

"How long has it been, Ayatesha?" he tilted his head, regarding her as he moved closer. This time she backed away, turning to keep him in front of her. "Twelve hours? Twenty-four?"

She shook her head, grasping the bars with both hands as she backed up against them.

"Shall we begin this conversation again?" he murmured as he came to a halt in front of her.

"Seventy-two hours," she turned her head away and looked up. "I had to be sure, and you wouldn't answer my questions."

"You never gave me the chance," he hissed, and surprisingly gently, took her arm from the bars, and uncapping the cylinder, pressed it to her skin, against one of her engorged veins. She pulled against his hold as he administered the medicine, his voice heavy as he uttered the single word order, "Don't."

"I just want to know where to find…" her throat constricted and it became difficult for her to speak, before the burning began to spread, and she forced herself to finish, "…Carson…"

Lorne drew her head against his chest, cradled the back of it in the warmth of his hand, and wrapped his other arm around her waist supportively, holding her close as the trembling in her limbs increased.

"He's. Safe," he told her, each word deliberate, and he lowered himself down with her as her legs refused to support her any more, even as she fought. Lorne's voice came from far away. "Easy… easy… don't fight it."

_She laughed as Carson's arms encircled her from behind and he picked her up, spinning them both around._

_"Someone's happy," she said, still chuckling as he set her down._

_"And why shouldn't I be," he grinned, and kissed her softly, never assuming, always gently. She opened to the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck as he drew her closer, into the curve of his stoop – she was just the right amount shorter than he. The kiss ended and he looked up at the sky to say, "It's a beautiful day. I have the woman I love in my arms…"_

_"You finished your research," she guessed smiling at him brightly, and holding him out to arm's length. "You mapped the ATA variance."_

_"It's better than that," he told her, and wrapped her in his arms again to lift her up and kiss her, before letting her slide down his chest to the ground. "I'm going __**with**__ them. I'll be able to continue the research first hand, and—"_

_"What?" she frowned, pulling back. "You are going to Pegasus – to Atlantis?"_

_"Aye," he confirmed, "I spoke to Doctor Weir about it this morning and—"_

_"You… are going to Atlantis?" she repeated._

_"Y'tesha, listen," he said softly, taking her hand in his and covering it with the other, "I know… it's no what we talked about, but…" She tried to pull away, her eyes feeling suddenly hot with the tears that were gathering behind them. "…no, hear me out. I want you to come with me. Lead up the medical team. We can be together and—"_

_"No," the denial came out as a moan that rose and fell with the crushing despair she felt. "I can't… Carson, I—"_

_She shook her head, then shook her hand free of his, turning to push at the door of the balcony, hurrying inside before he could see the tears that she angrily wiped away. She couldn't expose him to the threat hanging over her. If she went with him to Atlantis that would be exactly what she was doing… what __**they**__ wanted her to do. In Pegasus she would have access to all the resources they would need – immediate access – no excuses._

_She couldn't even __**tell**__him why she wouldn't come._

_She reached the parking lot before he caught up to her, tried to ignore him and reach her car – run, as she had her whole life… from her father… from her past… from her__**self**__._

_"Y'tesha, wait…" Carson caught her arm, pulling her to a halt and turning her to face him. The action was gentle, and as she turned he reached for her with the other hand, drawing her closer and leaning down to look earnestly into her still wet eyes. "I thought it was what you wanted. I… I don't understand why we can't—"_

_She stepped closer still, and laid a trembling hand across his lips to silence him._

_"Because I care too much for you to put you through all that would come of it," she told him in a softly broken voice. "It is enough to be your friend."_

"Evan," she whispered, pushing at his shoulder, weakened, but the worst of it had passed. "I'm all right… let me go."

He moved away enough to let her breathe, and cupped her elbows in his hands as she got to her feet. She left her hands resting against his chest. He said nothing, just regarded her in silence, watching her. She felt as if he were waiting for her to say something, so looked up at him and shook her head.

"There is nothing more to say, is there," she asked softly. "The irony is that, because of what I refused to do, it has come to this. I have been a prisoner, and now that I have been freed, to come to the aid of those I care for, if I am discovered—"

"Damned if you do…"

"…as well as if I do not," she finished. "I need to know, Evan, will Michael harm him. Where is he?"

"I'm sorry," Lorne said softly and stepped away. "I cannot tell you that."

* * *

Gasping, Todd dropped the commander's blade and blindly reached for the hilt of his own sword.

His green-gold eyes burned with the anger and passion of his renewed resolve. Adrenalin flowed through him as surely as the spill of blood, spreading toward him along the ground from the commander's partly severed hand, and he forced his gaze up from its glassy run to find the pained astonishment in the eyes of the other.

Still unsteady, he levered himself up with his sword, climbing to his feet as though scaling impossible heights, a mountain of meaning in the moment suspended between him and the Elder Queen's Hive Commander.

The vastness of the universe, stretched out on that moment, began to draw inward, to coalesce and sharpen to the titanium strength on the head of an arrow of thought, of truth… of passion…

…_the sound of her tears… sleeping and yet she wept._

…the future.

Slowly he raised the tip of his sword from the ground, and clasped it in a hand, sticky with his own blood. Like a lance he gripped the sword, flattening the other hand behind the pommel. He let out a terrible snarl and sprang at the Hive commander.

The sword struck, sure and true in the V made of the commander's arms as he cradled his injury close to his chest. Todd threw his weight behind it, along with the momentum of the charge, and snarled still more bitterly as the great sword slid deep into the other Wraith's chest.

Still he pushed, and as the spray of blood spread in the air behind the commander as he gasped a disbelieving breath, Todd stepped back, to allow the other Wraith's draining strength to bring him to his knees.

The Hive commander began to topple sideways, bloody rasping breath and spittle flying from his mouth as he tried to speak. He caught himself, pushing against the fall and with the other, plucked ineffectually, uselessly against the hilt of Todd's sword that slipped only slightly, as the point of the blade lodged against the ground behind the commander as he tipped backwards, pinning him in place.

Todd held his gaze, then slowly – stumbling – reached down to take the hilt of the commander's sword into his hands. He leaned against it, steadying himself, his own breath coming in short and painful gasps and allowed the soft rumble to gather in the back of his throat; words whispered behind the fury of the exploding star for which he was named.

"Die as Queenless as you lived."

As the last word left his lips, Todd swung the blade hard and fast. The passage of it sang a clean, clear note through the air and barely hissed in protest as it sliced through the thick muscled neck of the Elder Queen's former Hive commander.

A weak fountain of blood sprayed over the toppling head as it bounced off the hilt still embedded in the commander's chest, and came to a rocking halt on the ground by Todd's feet, and giving voice to gathered potential in his throat, Todd drove the tip of the sword he still held down through the top of the skull and into the ground.

The dead weight of the commander slid the Wraith's body backward on the metal holding it aloft, and with a wet thud, his body toppled sideways.

As the last of Todd's strength failed, he sank to his knees, still clasping the hilt of the Wraith commander's blade in trembling hands. He leaned his head against them and his breath came to him in sobbing gasps.

* * *

**Act 5**

Regardless of the mental barrage for him to turn back, to turn his scout ship and then his pedestrian course aside, the Red Queen's commander stalked angrily past the guardian drones that stood at the entrance to the nursery facility.

Angered that he had been unable to reach the answers he sought at the facility belonging to the Abomination, he had returned to make what discovery he could in the place where if felt to him that all around him sought to hide the truth from him. His own Matron Queen included.

She had ordered that these young, on which he now looked down from the observation platform as their embryonic silhouettes writhed and twitched within the gestation pods, be allowed to survive, to grow to the fullness of life. Why? What did these nascent Wraith represent to her?

"If she has ordered it," the voice came from behind him, soft, but clipped, which he realised now was but a product of the difference in the Wraith Sentinels, and other Wraith, "why have you returned?"

"To seek answers, Ancient One," he answered without turning as she came to stand at his side. It was only as she did that he realised that his ingress had been met only by ordinary drones, and not by the elite Sentinel Guard.

She chuckled. It was a cold, uncomfortable sound that left him shivering in its wake.

"I have already given you the answer you seek," she told him.

"You gave me nothing," he spat. "Riddles, nothing more!"

"Then allow me to give you more," the Sentinel hissed, and raised her hands toward him. He was ready for her, and turning, caught the underside of her chin on the tip of his swiftly drawn dagger.

"No closer, Ancient One," he ordered. "If there is something you wish to say to me, then you will use words."

"Very well," she chuckled again, with the same shrivelling menace behind her mirth, and with the side of her supernumerary hand, she pushed the dagger from between them, and paced away. In spite of himself, he followed.

"_Why do you serve_? The One asked the others, for She had seen in the fullness of the time, of which the Eleven had been completely unaware," the Sentinel began to speak, her melodic voice punctuated by the soft clicks of her tongue against the inside of her mouth. "That for each new light that came, full half of the Parmhunii had faded into darkness to be replaced by their progeny while the mirrors of their yearning slept…"

"But the One had no mirror save herself and so had seen," the commander quoted, losing patience, "Why do you tell me infants' tales?"

"Have you stopped to consider what it means, Commander," she asked, breaking off from her telling. "To consider the question and what it means?"

"It means nothing," he snapped. "Myth… that is all."

"For one of such a line," she spat, "you understand so little of your heritage."

"I understand _facts_, Ancient One," he said, "not myth and supposition."

"Then understand this," she growled unpleasantly, "the Wraith that sired these young seeks to break the hold of the Question… will destroy the very fabric of it with his ambition… tampered with the very blueprints of Wraith his offspring carry within them… closer even than you."

"If that's the case, why not destroy them," he asked, turning to look out over the pods once more.

"We venerate life," the Sentinel answered, tilting her head to regard him with the brightness of her green eyes as another of her Sisters stepped from out of the shadows.

"…closer even than you… or he," she said.

The commander looked between the two Sentinels as they came closer, realising his error only as he took a step back almost into the arms of another.

"Closer even than he… or you."

"Ancient Ones," he gasped softly. "Forgive my trespass."

"It is your queen that trespasses. It is why she will not sanction your destruction of these _vipers_ in our nest, and why _you_ will do nothing."

…and with the combined whispers of the gathered Circle pushed within, and pressed upon his psyche, suddenly, he understood The Question.

* * *

"Commander," his second in command stepped down from the central control station and all but hurried toward the Red Queen's commander as he stumbled into the bridge. "Are you ill?"

"Prepare to break orbit," he ordered, waving his second in command back into place.

"What course, Commander," the Second asked. "Where will we go?"

"Hunting," he snarled, and with no warning at all lashed out and grabbed a nearby member of his crew. He pinned the other Wraith to the back of the control station and burning with hunger, pushed his feeding hand hard against the other, snarling as he fed.

"Hunting, Commander?"

The Red Queen's commander drew himself upright, taking a deep breath, and tilted his head to regard his second in command steadily.

"Yes," he said, the menace in his voice spreading throughout the Hive. "We go to hunt _my_ dear _brother_."

* * *

Malcolm looked out of the viewing port at the nearby Hive with growing unease. Something wasn't right, and he couldn't put his finger on quite what it was. Certainly it was not unheard of for a Hive to approach another under flag of truce, for parlay, but such a request was usually made between Queens, or at the very least between the Hive commanders, yet this had been demanded by a simple textual order.

The stand off that had been created was a tense one, and but for the knowledge that it was the Hive of the Queen's missing scientist, Malcolm knew that peace between the two Hives would have been unlikely. He growled softly. Standing as he was, watching the Darts flying patterns in the narrow corridor between the two Hives, Malcolm cursed the absence of the Hive commander. It should have been _him_ awaiting the arrival of the scientist.

Footsteps halted behind him, and Malcolm took in a deep breath, preparing to turn to face the visiting commander.

The sonorous ringing of metal falling to the chitinous deck of the observation room, punctuated by the rattle of Wraith weapons being readied in the hands of the guards, sent a terrible chill racing through his blood. When he finally turned it was far more slowly and carefully than he had intended.

There, in the middle of the space between him and where the Wraith scientist stood barely inside the door with, Malcolm noted, his own flank of drones and cloned-Wraith at his back, the Hive commander's sword rocked from side to side, not yet having come to rest after being thrown to the floor. The reason for that was immediately apparent and Malcolm stared in disbelief into the open, staring eyes of the commander's severed head.

Caught off guard by the moment, looking up at the scientist, Malcolm demanded, "What is the meaning of this!"

* * *

Todd chuckled, and heedless of the numerous weapons pointed in his direction, took three more measured steps into the Elder Hive's observation room.

"I would have thought that obvious," he purred. "The former commander of this Hive is dead."

_~and we must talk, you and I~ ~we must talk~ ~talk~ ~talk~ ~talk~ ~talk~ ~alone~ ~alone~ ~alone~ ~alone~ ~alone~_

He waited as the Hive's Second regarded him wordlessly for a moment, before the other Wraith bowed his head once in acknowledgement, and then with an imperious gesture, waved the drone guards away.

"Leave us," he instructed them.

Still teetering on the precipice of exhaustion, Todd allowed the silence to linger between them long after the Hive's drone guards, and his own Honour Guard had obeyed the order for privacy between he and the Elder Hive's second in command. He could feel the other Wraith's eyes travelling over him, assessing, considering… planning his next move. It was a pivotal moment… a moment of danger for Todd and he knew it.

If the other Wraith had ambition, and discovered him still weak, it would be the perfect opportunity for the Second to become Commander, and to eliminate a dangerous rival in the process, on the other hand – and Todd chuckled inwardly, though without much true amusement – what Wraith would _want_ to be commander of a Hive so locked in chaos by its Queen?

When the silence stretched too far, Todd growled, "Nothing to say?"

The second in command took a deep breath. "Commander, I—" he began.

"Wait," Todd interrupted, and raised a hand to forestall any further utterance from the Hive Second. Then slowly, and deliberately he walked forward and with great distaste picked up the former commander's sword, and continued on toward the second in command. Once within reach he shifted the sword so that he held it by the cross and offered the hilt to the other Wraith. "I have no intention of commanding this Hive, and even less desire to do so."

He gave a moment to allow his words to sink in, before he raised a brow ridge, and cocked his head in query at the other Wraith. Slowly, the other reached out, and with a distaste that clearly matched his own, closed his fist around the former commander's sword hilt.

"So what do you want?" the other Wraith asked, suspicion colouring his voice. Todd couldn't help but chuckle as he turned and, confident of his safety, stepped away, spreading his arms.

"What makes you think I want anything?" he rumbled softly.

* * *

The enormity of the moment settled like a heavy cloak around Malcolm's shoulders as he hefted the former commander's sword – and his severed head – in his hand.

"You have just handed me the command of this Hive," he answered, already running the myriad responsibilities, the changes he would need to make through his quick mind. "I rather doubt you made the gesture out of… altruism."

"Indeed," the scientist chuckled.

"Then what?" he asked.

"It occurs to me that we are in a… unique position," the scientist turned to face him then, "you and I… to drive forward into a beneficial future for our two Hives… an… alliance, if you will."

"An alliance already exists between our two Hives," Malcolm corrected him, clipping the ends of the words. There was something in the scientist's tone that he did not like, mistrusted, something that was like scraped talons on a viewing port.

"Only in as much as I have provided your Queen with the science she demanded," the scientist corrected, his voice suddenly hard. "I doubt very much whether she will care for it to continue, now that she has what she wanted."

"Then what makes you believe that I will?" Malcolm asked.

"Because you are not a fool," the scientist said.

"I do not take kindly to empty flattery," Malcolm warned, and added further, "Nor to empty threats."

"It is simply the condition of my…" the scientist paused, and an expression came over his face that suggested that he was struggling to frame the words to describe his intent. At last he finished, "…stepping aside."

"An alliance?" Malcolm tilted his head.

The scientist nodded. "Between your Hive and mine," he said. "You know full well that, sooner or later, there will be a Conclave. Factions will meet to appoint their Primaries, and the matter of Wraith future will be… very much on the agenda."

"What does that have to do with the importance of an alliance between us?" Malcolm demanded.

"Let's just say," the scientist said, "that there is much that I could offer to the right Conclave, but in order to do so I will require a… patron – a sponsor."

"In other words, you need me to facilitate your position within the Conclave of the Elder Hives." Malcolm translated his understanding of the scientist's words.

"Need?" the scientist queried. "Oh no, you mistake me. I am offering your Hive the opportunity to be paramount in securing the position of the Wraith within the Pegasus Galaxy."

"And if I refuse?" Malcolm bristled at the thinly obviously hidden agenda behind the scientist's insistence.

"I hadn't even considered it," the scientist said, and with an amused spark barely masked beneath an impassive expression on his face, turned to head toward the door.

Malcolm allowed himself a wry smile of his own. He understood the other Wraith far too well; saw in him a quiet ruthlessness that had been absent from the elite among their kind of far too long. Content enough, for the moment, to play along with the other Wraith's design, he nodded to the scientist's retreating back.

_{very well… an alliance} {alliance} {alliance} {alliance} {alliance}_

"And Hive Commander?" the scientist paused as he reached the door, and half turned to meet Malcolm's eyes.

"Commander?" Malcolm queried, his tone one of respect between equals, as the scientist's had been.

"See to it that your predecessor's concubine is delivered aboard my Hive before I depart."

* * *

She barely touched the control station, but the overhead light illuminated the platform and the viewing screen began to display a series of scrolling characters. She pulled back her hand, afraid, a creeping unease rising up her spine, and turning, stepped away.

She stepped almost directly into Michael, and gasped softly; startled.

"What is it that you wish to know?" he asked quietly, reaching to steady her, the strength of his hand a comfort to her, calming as he cupped her forearm.

"I wanted to find you," she told him, swallowing down her unsteady breathing, and glancing uncomfortably at the control station as though it had somehow offended her.

"You do not need the control station for that," he said.

_-you have only to reach out- -reach out- -reach out- -reach out- -reach out-_

…_Michael…_

"I am here, Teyla," he answered. "What is it that you need?"

"I have been experiencing some… difficulties," she confessed.

…_I am afraid…_

_-Teyla- -Teyla- -Teyla- -Teyla- -Teyla-_

"This is why you have been so concerned," she as much stated as asked.

"Yes," he answered.

She watched him for a moment, pieces falling into place like the tumbling characters from the control station's monitor reflected in the gold of his eyes; tumbling like snowflakes into the rekindled memory of the place, the sensation they had shared – soft white crystals upon the fluid darkness that burst into flames around them.

Michael smiled softly, and gently, almost tenderly cupped her cheek in his hand. She leaned into the touch, her eyes filling with tears as she closed them and turned her lips to kiss his palm.

"It will, of necessity, mean that there will be some small… change in plan, but," Michael swallowed, and she opened her eyes again to find him looking at her in deep, but concerned devotion. "Nothing we can't handle," he finished softly.

"What do you mean?" she asked, beginning to feel a soft yet heavy fizzing in the pit of her stomach.

_-promise me something, Teyla- -promise me- -promise- -promise- -promise-_

…_anything…_

She realised as soon as the word entered her mind that she meant it, with everything that she was. In that moment she would promise him the galaxy if she could.

"Do not keep anything from me," he said. "No matter how insignificant it may seem."

"When have I ever been able?" she asked. The fizzing had become a heated buzzing just behind her ears, and the hot, uncomfortable feeling she had experience earlier returned more strongly.

"No, Teyla," Michael insisted softly. "I will have your word on this."

"I promise," she breathed, as the Hive began to spin around her, and Michael lifted her into the protective strength of his arms.

* * *

"Leave us," Malcolm said softly as he entered the Queen's Private Chamber behind the Throne Room. He remained immobile while the Handmaidens, still present at the Queen's side, scurried from the room as if they could sense his intent. All but Jethera, who walked with a solemn, almost sad dignity and passing him, looked up to catch his eye. _My Lord Commander… _He fancied he could hear her thought.

"I did not summon you to my presence," the Queen said sharply, rising from her chaise long. The beads in her hair rattled together as she moved, like the warning song of some great snake.

"No, you did not," Malcolm answered. "But you need my presence all the same."

"You presume too much," the Queen snarled.

"And you presume not enough," he answered, matching her tone. He caught her wrist as she lashed out at him, and on her own momentum spun her in his arms, pinning her to his chest as he growled in her ear. "I am here to inform you that command of your Hive has passed to me… _my_ Queen."

"You dare—!" she spat, and broke free of his restraint, hissing like an alley cat and raking out at him with her claws.

In quick succession he blocked her empty-handed attacks, and struck quickly with an open-handed blow of his own, sending her flying backwards across the room, almost to the opposite wall, and in the time afforded him by their sudden distance, unfastened and dropped his heavy leather coat behind him, stalking closer even as she rushed at him again.

"You will not find what you seek here, Second," she shrieked at him, raking at him again, and catching his shirt – tearing the fabric and drawing a beaded line of blood across his newly healed skin.

"No," he agreed. "I will not, but _you_ will find what you _need_."

She snarled wordlessly, leaping at him. He ducked her incoming swipe, and backhanded the right side of her face, even as he caught her feeding hand and pinned it behind her back, forcing the two of them further into the room, toward the low divan surrounded by the swirling light from the viewing portal above, spinning her again, to pitch her face down, pinning her in place with the weight of his body, and snarling, sank his teeth into her shoulder, breathing deeply of the pheromones which instinct alone released in her.

She arched her back, pressing the side of her head to his, necks entwining like two great drakes battling for supremacy as she sought to remove the touch of his mouth from her skin.

He felt her temperature rise beneath the press of his body, and saw the beads of perspiration gather on her suddenly flushed cheeks, and held a moment longer against her struggling before, snarling, he turned her beneath him. He held back the claws that still raked at him, fought him, and her own instinct both.

He caught her feeding hand and entwining their fingers, feeling the rush of enzyme over his palm, pressed her hand back against the cushion, keeping her pinned while he deftly freed himself from the rest of his restrictive clothing, feeling the alternating rejection and deep rooted need to feel him as a part of her that warred through her body… her mind…

_{surrender} {surrender} {surrender} {surrender} {surrender}_

_=never= =never= =never= =never= =never=_

_{you are mine} {mine} {mine} _

_=I belong to no male= =no male= =no male=_

She hissed as he nipped at the side of her neck, nipped harder and was rewarded by the rich taste of her blood, as maddening as it was soothing, and pressing hard against her hip, he undulated over her, rending the silken gown she wore with his own claws, and cupping the all too female curves of her body in the palm of his hand; dripping enzyme with each touch.

She snarled again, once more entwining her muscled neck with his, but this time when her teeth raked his skin it was with the heat of passion, not out of denial, her tongue lapping fire over the skin of his neck, his shoulder, and gasping amid the snarls she spun them, straddling him to rake her nails over his chest and downward, to clasp his heat in the palms of her hands, coating him with her own slick enzyme.

Growling he wrapped her hair around his fist, spilling beads to roll unheeded over the floor of her chamber, as he drew her back to him, turned them again, writhing in the struggle for supremacy in this mating fight until he had her pinned, and snarling in chorus with the Queen surged within her, deep and strong.

She stilled, head falling back then as he pulled away to claim her again, arched her back, and cried out as she met him, hip to hip.

"…My Commander…" she hissed…

_=commander= =commander= =commander= =commander= =commander=_

…and opened to him as he began to move with strong deep strokes; showing no mercy, claiming her completely as their snarling cries punctuated the hissing of skin on skin.

Swollen and engorged he opened within her, clasping true and drawing from her a guttural moan that only buoyed his instinctive passion. She turned them then, riding him hard, and through the link he had allowed her to weave, he felt the too sweet pain of their coupling driving her pleasure, filling her with it… demanding more, and she surrendered – drawing back her feeding hand, and slamming her clawed maw against his chest.

He gave her but a moment of it, hissing loudly and arching his back as she began to feed, taking him deeper still, drawing him higher into pleasure of his own pain. Then he mantled his own feeding hand and latched on true and feeding as deeply from her as she did from him… each sustaining the other in destructive ecstasy.

Turning her again without once breaking the rhythm of their mating dance, he rose over her, truly claiming her, their bodies a circle of creative and destructive energies, until they were almost filled with it…

Her trembling began… a mere heartbeat later she screamed a deep primal cry as everything she was contracted around him, squeezed him as he thrust deeply, and exploded within, seed and enzyme mingling within her, spreading outward like a wildfire, burning away all unnecessary influence.

Limp – spent – she fell against the cushions, breathing hard… withdrawn into herself completely as her body released his, and unlatching he left her, holding himself barely under emotional control, he crossed the room – away.

She lay, unmoving as he went to his coat, and from his pocket took a syringe, already filled with a deep purple fluid.

_"I was the one that summoned you," the scientist confirmed, then looking at the Queen, as if to confirm Malcolm's unspoken suspicion, said, "There will be no new queen from this union, but __**she **__will have needs. You will see to them."_

Pushing at her thigh to give him access to her femoral artery, he quickly injected her with the serum, then leaning over her once more, he pulled back her head to bring her still glazed eyes to his.

"Hear me, my Queen," he growled, "I will serve as your commander, and act for the good of this Hive, but you _cannot_. Command. My loyalty beyond that. It is not yours to command."

_{not yours to command} {not yours} {not yours} {not yours} {not yours}_

"My loyalty lies with one that has come before."

_{come before} {come before} {before} {before} {before}_

"Whom _you_ will serve."

_{you will serve} {will serve} {serve} {serve} {serve}_

**_fin_**


End file.
